Lethal Measures
by MysteryFan
Summary: End of Part I!
1. Default Chapter

****

Chapter I

"I can't believe you guys come all the way to San Francisco and order a burger and fries, just like we were back in Bayport."

"Good burger and fries." corrected Joe Hardy around a mouthful of fries. He glanced over at the plate in front of pretty blonde Callie Shaw. "What's that mess you're eating?"

"Crab salad and sourdough. San Francisco is known for its sea food and its sourdough bread."

"Among other things." Frank Hardy, Joe's older brother and Callie's boyfriend, was thumbing through a guide book while sipping his soda. "We could see Ghirardelli Center tomorrow. Good shopping. That should please one of us." he smiled at Callie.

Joe groaned. "Great. What else?"

"There's Candlestick Park. That should please you. It's in the rest of Golden Gate Park, though, so that'll probably call for a whole day. There's a lake and a Japanese Garden - 

"What about beaches?"

"There's a beach, too. Though I don't know how warm it'll be." 

"Night life?"

"Haven't gotten there yet." 

Joe held out his hand. "Let me look."

"When I'm done. This Science Museum looks interesting."

Joe rolled his eyes. Callie shook her head. "You know, Joe, there's no point in going to San Francisco if you're not going to _see_ San Francisco. The beaches and the dance clubs probably aren't that different from anywhere else."

"Easy for you to say. You brought a date. I didn't."

"It says here you can get a nice panoramic view of San Francisco from Coit Tower." Frank continued, oblivious.

Joe rolled his eyes again. "A _dull_ date, but a date."

Callie reached for one of Frank's fries. "Shows you don't know everything about him." Callie knew that Joe had recently broken up with his steady girlfriend, Vanessa Bender, and was feeling at loose ends. Iola Morton, his first love, had died in an explosion from a terrorist bomb, and Callie sometimes wondered if Joe would ever love anyone again the way he had loved her. Of course, Joe and Vanessa were both quick tempered and might still patch things up, but seeing her and Frank together must make him feel lonely sometimes. So she added kindly, "Besides, there's no reason you can't meet some cute girl in an Art Gallery or on a harbor tour. Girls love that stuff."

Joe, having finished his own fries, also reached for one of Frank's. He chewed thoughtfully. "You've got a point."

"I know what you guys would enjoy." continued Callie, reaching for another fry. "A trip to Alcatraz. Since you're so into crime busting. How often do the ferries leave - _Frank!_"

Frank dropped the guide book with a start and half rose, glancing around rapidly. Joe had also leapt to his feet, pushing his chair back and taking a defensive stance. "What? Where - ?"

But Callie was staring down at her palm. "Your bracelet!"

"Argh! Is that all?" Joe resumed his chair. "For pete's sake, Callie! My heart!"

"It fell on the floor. You could have lost it."

"Oh." Frank's ears reddened. "The catch is loose. I haven't had a chance to get it fixed. With one thing and another."

Callie knew that "one thing and another" referred to the boys' frequent involvement in detective work. Lately, it seemed as though they'd been involved in one mystery after another, and had decided to come to San Francisco for some rest and relaxation. Their father, Fenton Hardy, a private investigator of international renown, had arranged for them to perform a courier service to make their airfare more affordable, and Callie's ticket had been a gift from her parents.

Callie laid the bracelet out on the table. She had given it to Frank for his birthday. It was an identification bracelet, with "Frank" engraved on one side, and "Love, Callie" on the other. Frank wasn't really very comfortable wearing it, but he knew it meant a lot to Callie, so he bit the bullet. 

Callie examined the clasp. "Probably broke it in a fist fight with some thugs. I know a few tricks to hold it until you can get it repaired. Hand me that butter knife, will you?" Frank silently handed her the knife. Joe grinned at his elder brother's discomfiture.

"There you go." Callie tested the clasp, then slipped it around Frank's wrist and fastened it. Frank's ears were crimson. Joe's grin broadened.

"That's right, Callie. Can't have him wandering around loose." 

Callie tossed her blonde hair back and gave him a frosty look. Frank pointedly picked up the guide book again and checked the table of contents. "Alcatraz. Let's see."

Joe reached for another fry. "That sounds pretty cool."

"Looks like the ferries leave every fifteen minutes from Pier 41." He absently swatted Joe's hand away from his fries and picked one up himself. "Pier 41 is at Fisherman's Wharf, near Ghirardelli Center. We could do both of those tomorrow. And look, there's something about a fort - cool it, Joe, you had your own fries."

"I'm a growing boy, I need a lot of fuel." Joe struck a weightlifter's pose to show off his linebacker's physique. Though at six foot he was an inch shorter than Frank, he was a good ten 

pounds heavier, and all of it was muscle. Frank shook his head and grinned in spite of himself as he pushed his plate across the table to his younger brother. Joe grinned back. Though Frank was dark haired where Joe was blond, and lean where Joe was broad, when they smiled, the family resemblance was strong.

Callie reached into her purse and pulled out a pad and pen. "Okay. What we need now is an itinerary. We should go through and decide what we absolutely _have_ to see, and then what we'd _like_ to see, time permitting." 

Joe groaned. "You two are too much. You really know how to turn a vacation into a tour for senior citizens."

"Come on, Joe," said Frank, beating him to the last french fry "We'll split time. See some sights by day, do dance clubs by night. What do you say?"

Joe considered. "Sounds okay." 

Callie was reading over Frank's shoulder. "San Francisco Opera." she sighed. "Wouldn't it wonderful if we could go see an opera here?" Frank and Joe's eyes met in mutual horror. 

Frank cleared his throat. "Um. Let's see what time permits. We're not here for that long."

It was a little after six when Frank slipped out of the hotel and headed down to the Bay. The entire city was shrouded deep in fog, and he had trouble seeing even a foot ahead. He hesitated when he reached the beach and stared hard to his left. 

The desk clerk had told him that that was the way to The Golden Gate Bridge and Fort Point, but you'd have a hard time proving it by him. With a shrug, he started his jog anyway.

He'd tried to rouse Joe to go with him, but Joe had groaned and retreated under the covers, demanding to know if he had any idea what the word "vacation" meant. Frank smiled to himself. He could hear the gentle lap of the ocean to his right, punctuated by the cries of the gulls. Maybe by the time he started back some of the fog would have lifted and he would actually be able to see something. As it was, there were occasional, astonishing breaks where the fog suddenly gave way to reveal a momentary view, like some horror movie effect. Frank made a mental note to drag Joe with him tomorrow. He'd get a kick out of it - always assuming he'd be awake enough to enjoy it.

Either the fog kept the locals inside or the hour did, because Frank met no one else on his jog, and the desk clerk had remarked that it was a fairly popular route. Squinting, he thought he could just make out the curve of the shoreline in the distance. The Golden Gate should be there somewhere, but darned if he could see it. He paused for breath, bending to rest his hands on his knees. When he straightened, he saw that there was a bright orange girder barely a foot from his face. He moved closer to study it. The Golden Gate? Must be. And probably all he was going to see of it this morning, too. He leaned against it for a moment, enjoying the sound of the surf and the gulls and the low bellowing of the fog horn. After a moment, as his breathing settled, he became aware that those were not the only sounds. Someone - maybe ten feet away from him - was having a heated conversation.

"I said I don't trust him, Jerry! I wish we were out of the whole thing, money or no money!"

"Gabby, honey, you've got to calm down. Cobra's all right - a little weird, maybe, but he knows he can't do it without us. He'll stay in line."

"Oh, sure, Jer - and what about _after_ we've done it? What does he need us for then? Did you ever think of that? What makes you think he's going to stick with this three way split idea?"

"Because it's neater. It's less trouble. In the end, it's safer. You gotta trust me, baby. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you, Jerry?" the woman's voice became tearful. "Do you? I sure hope so, because I have a real bad feeling about this." The last word broke on a sob and Frank winced and shifted uncomfortably. He was suddenly in the awkward position of unintentionally eavesdropping, and unsure of how to tactfully withdraw without being heard.

"Three days, Gabby. You just gotta trust me for three days and everything's gonna be fine. It'll be just you and me in Rio or Caracas with more money than we've ever dreamed of. Come on, baby, trust me?"

Frank struggled with himself. His detective's curiosity was aroused, but he knew he should probably move away now, while they seemed so deeply involved. He stepped cautiously out from behind the girder, backing away quietly. He was almost at what he considered a safe distance to turn and jog away, when the fog played one of its peek-a-boo tricks. Without warning, it dissolved right in front of him. He was fully exposed.


	2. Chapter 2

****

Chapter II

Frank found himself staring face to face with a couple in their early forties; the woman tall and sandy haired, the man only a little taller and wiry, with receding dark hair. It would be hard to say who looked more astonished. They stared at each other for a full five seconds, then embarrassment caught up with Frank. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, then, seeing no graceful way to exit, turned and ran back down the beach. For a few moments he thought he heard voices ricochet behind him, but he was moving rapidly and they soon disappeared under the sound of the surf.

The fog had indeed begun to burn off by the time he reached the city, and the streets were beginning to hum with people on their way to work. He entered the hotel lobby and nodded to the desk clerk before heading for the elevator. 

Back in the room, Joe was still huddled under the covers. Frank swatted the mound under the blanket with a towel on his way to the shower. "Rise and shine." The mound stirred and withdrew further. By the time Frank emerged from the shower, however, it showed some signs of life. Frank gave it one more swat for good measure. "Come on, pal, you gonna lie there all day?"

Joe's tousled blond mop protruded cautiously from the blanket. "Ugh. Do you have to be so vigorous so early?"

"It's not that early. All of San Francisco's up."

"I thought these West Coasters were supposed to be so laid back."

"I'll bet Callie's up."

"Hmph." Joe pushed back the covers, glaring. After a moment, he rose to his feet, rubbing his head vigorously until his hair stood up like a blond bird's nest, then disappeared into the bathroom. Frank grinned. Nothing like a little healthy competition.

By the time they knocked on Callie's door, Joe was buoyant as ever and ready for breakfast. Callie emerged looking fresh and pretty in a peach blouse and white jeans and gave Frank a quick kiss on the cheek.

The coffee shop was almost empty, and they were soon putting away scrambled eggs and pancakes at an impressive rate. 

Callie shook her head at Joe. "I don't know how you do it, Joe."

Joe swallowed a mouthful of pancake. "I've got a healthy appetite. Must be the fog." The mention of the fog reminded Frank of his experience on the beach, and he paused his eating, turning over the details of the conversation in his mind. 

"Hey, Earth to Frank." 

Frank looked up to see both Joe and Callie eyeing him curiously. "Oh. Sorry. Did you -?" 

"Ask you something? We tried. I'm starting to worry about you, big brother. Maybe this vacation isn't a minute too soon."

Frank shook his head. "No. It's just - I had a kind of strange experience jogging this morning." He went on to recount the conversation he'd heard on the beach.

Joe swallowed orange juice thoughtfully. "Sounds like a B grade flick Aunt Gertrude would catch on the late, late show."

Frank grinned. "Yeah, kind of."

"So what do you suppose this three days thing with the big money is? Doesn't sound very legal to me."

"I don't know. I've been going over the details in my head, but nothing comes together. Maybe we should - "

"_No_ you don't." Callie interrupted firmly. "Don't even think about it! I know that look on _both_ your faces! You promised me a vacation, Frank Hardy, a real one, with no mysteries!"

Joe frowned. "Callie, if something illegal is going down -"

"What on earth makes you think it's illegal? Maybe it's a big stock investment, or a lottery drawing, or a business deal! I didn't hear anyone mention anything about a crime! Maybe the man took a job in South America and he's relocating! Maybe Cobra's the company!" 

Joe and Frank exchanged sheepish glances. "You know, she's right." said Frank after a minute.

"Yeah." Joe agreed with a laugh. "Maybe this vacation's not a minute too soon for either of us. You gonna finish those eggs?"

"Yes." said Frank firmly, moving his plate out of reach of Joe's hovering fork. "And my toast, so get that look out of your eye."

Callie pushed her plate across the table. "Here, Joe - you can have my toast. I'm done."

Joe picked up the toast. "Thanks, Callie - you're a pal."

"Well, we can't have you fainting from hunger on the ferry to Alcatraz, can we? I'll take care of the tab while you finish."

The fog had almost burned off by the time they'd left the hotel and the sky was clear and blue with a light sea breeze. Frank found it hard to believe that it was the same morning he'd run in a few short hours ago. The short walk to Fisherman's Wharf was pleasant, and they made it in companionable silence. As they stopped at the curb to cross to the Pier, the cars came to a screeching halt. 

Joe laughed. "Wow. Not much like New York, is it? There they seem to speed up and aim for you."

"Laws protecting pedestrians are very strict in California." Frank explained. "Hitting one has severe consequences."

Joe looked at him. "Your head must get heavy carrying all that stuff around inside." He squinted down the length of the Wharf. "That looks like the Pier for Alcatraz Ferry down there." They strolled along the Wharf, taking their time, stopping to look at the many vendors' displays.

"Wow." said Joe. "A great place to eat lunch."

Callie laughed. "Joe, you just had breakfast!"

"I know. I just like to be prepared." 

Gulls wheeled overhead, hoping for scraps. "Sure is pretty." said Frank, gazing at the long stretch of water and sidewalk, dotted with piers and marinas. Callie slipped her arm through his and sighed in agreement. Frank couldn't remember when he'd last felt so relaxed. He'd almost be content to forgo Alcatraz for sitting on the Pier and looking at the Bay. He turned to say so to Joe, and noticed him staring behind them. 

"Pretty?" he asked lazily.

"Huh?" Joe looked bemused. "Oh. Not a girl. Just - never mind." Frank shrugged, unwilling to break the mood by pressing him further. 

They made their way to Pier 41 and the Alcatraz Ferry, where Callie went to buy their tickets while Frank and Joe found a place in line. Frank watched a helicopter hover over the Oakland Bay Bridge. He turned to point it out to Joe, and noticed he was frowning over his shoulder again.

"What?" he asked curiously. 

Joe started, then reddened. "Oh. Um. Nothing." 

"Come on, Joe. Obviously it's something. What?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"I already think you're crazy. So you might as well tell me."

"Well...okay. It's just - I could swear we're being followed."

Frank stared at him. "By gosh, you're right. Just look at this line of people following us. I wonder what they could want? Maybe to go to Alcatraz?"

"All right, all right!" Joe got redder. "I told you it was crazy. But still, I could swear..." he trailed off.

"Well, what did this mystery person or persons look like?"

Joe shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't see them. Exactly."

"So you're saying you sensed somebody walking along the Wharf behind us, stopping at vendors, on the way to the ferry? Only about a dozen people doing that, I'd say."

"Okay, okay - just drop it, will you?"

Frank looked past him to where Callie was approaching with the tickets. "Yeah, we'd better drop it. Here comes Callie, and if she catches us talking about this, she'll push us both into the Bay."

But as they filed onto the ferry, Joe couldn't resist one more look back at the dock. He could have sworn he saw a figure dodge back into the crowd - at least that's the way it seemed to him. Of course, he told himself, it didn't _mean_ anything. The fact that it looked furtive was probably all in his mind. Still, he couldn't suppress a shiver that ran up his spine.

The wind as they pulled out onto the Bay was brisk, and Joe was glad he'd had the foresight to bring his sweatshirt. He glanced over at Frank, leaning against the ferry rail with his arm around Callie. He was aching to really talk out his feeling with his brother, but he couldn't with Callie there. Besides, he looked so relaxed and happy he couldn't bring himself to spoil it. 

Alcatraz was exciting enough to take Joe's mind off of his puzzle. Park Rangers told fascinating anecdotes of the island's history and led them up the steep steps to the prison cell house, where they handed out headsets. The inside was still and creepy, with tiny, sterile maximum security cells - almost like horse stalls. The long, chilly corridors echoed their words and footsteps spookily. When the Rangers collected the headsets and they returned to the sunlight and brisk winds of the outdoors, Joe couldn't suppress a tiny breath of relief. He nudged Frank.

"Great place for ghosts."

"I thought it was sad," said Callie

"Yeah? You can ease up on Frank's hand any time now. Before you crush it."

Callie narrowed her eyes at him. "You're just mad because you never got to put anybody in there." she said shrewdly.

"Couple of creeps I'd _like_ to see in there. Remember Sandy White, Frank - the guy that turned you into a human bomb?"

"How could I forget? And what about Max Lachlan, the guy that tried to kill the President? Some psycho he turned out to be."

"Speaking of psychos, remember Bates? That creep you guys helped me with in L.A.?" Callie shuddered at the memory. "I could see him somewhere like this."

Joe couldn't resist teasing her. "As I remember, you almost got yourself killed on that one. Proof positive you should leave crime solving to the experts, right, Frank?" 

Frank gave him a look that thanked him very much for dragging him into the middle of it, but before he could answer, Callie retorted, "Well, you were happy enough to have my help when your friend Scott Lavin's name needed clearing, as I recall."

Joe grinned at her. "Well, I was happy for the help of your VCR, anyway. But you could have just loaned it to us with the same results." 

"So," Frank gazed down at the waves crashing on the rocks below them. "What about those three convicts the rangers told us about? Think they really escaped, or just plain drown?"

Callie's glare changed to a reluctant smile. "Well, here's one clue I can follow, Joe." she said with a laugh. "I detect that someone is trying to change the subject."

"Good deduction." Frank slipped an arm around her waist. "Let's try another one. Everyone's heading towards the dock. Which means...?"

"The boat's leaving," Joe chimed in. "Okay, let's go."

The air was amazingly warmer once they left the open Bay and headed back past the vendors towards Ghirardelli Square. Near one corner a couple of old men had set up makeshift tables and were playing chess. Frank paused curiously to watch, but Callie took his arm firmly. 

"Oh, no, you don't!" she said laughingly. "You promised me shopping and you're not backing out of it." Joe groaned. Callie slipped her other arm through his. "Don't worry, Joe. I hear there are great places to eat lunch. And this evening we do whatever you choose."

"Sounds fair." Joe stared up at the quaint, ornate clock tower that marked the square. "Cool."

The square, a renovated chocolate factory, was interesting enough in itself to keep the boys from boredom, especially since Callie resisted the urge to linger too long at any one place. At just past twelve thirty, lunch sounded like a good idea to all of them, and they headed for a likely cafe with pleasant outdoor tables. Callie was setting down her shopping bags when she spied a small hut set up on the corner. 

"Oh, look! A kiosk! We should find out if there are any special events going on!"

"I'll get it." Frank stood up. "I want to buy a map anyway. If the waitress comes, order me a soda." He strolled over to the kiosk and studied the collection of maps before choosing one, then gathered some event folders and paid for the map. He heard one of the chess players say "Check" and couldn't resist a glance down to see the position of the pieces. Suddenly, someone shoved him roughly from behind so that he stumbled against the kiosk and he felt his wallet tugged from his hand.

"Hey!" Frank made a grab at the quickly retreating figure and caught only air. He regathered his balance and ran into a flying tackle. The thief was fast and his tackle fell short, but he skidded across the brick and managed to hook an ankle. The culprit stumbled and Frank held on firmly, shifting his grip to rise to his feet. He made it to his knees.

With surprising agility, the thief swung in his grasp, kicking out with his free leg and catching Frank square in the forehead. Frank flew backward in a graceful arc; his head hit the curb with a resounding crack, and he somersaulted, head over heels, over the curb - directly into four lanes of oncoming traffic!


	3. Chapter_3

****

Chapter III

"Frank? Frank! _Frank_!" Frank groaned and reached up with one hand to push away whatever was shaking at his shoulder. "Frank! Can you hear me?" Frank tried to say that of course he could hear, but it came out as another groan. "Can someone help me get him out of the street?" Now he recognized the voice as Callie's. He started to say that he would help her, but somehow or other he was having trouble forming words. He felt a muscular arm under his shoulders and it gradually dawned on him that Callie was talking about him - _he_ was the one in the street. The scenario with the thief came back in a flash and he started to speak, but the arm had moved him into sitting position and he had to grit his teeth against a sudden wave of pain and nausea. 

"You want an ambulance, miss?"

"Yes. Please." Callie sounded grateful. 

Frank shook his head. Ouch. Bad idea. "No - " he clutched at someone - he wasn't sure who. "M'okay."

"Frank - " Callie sounded impatient. 

Frank started to shake his head, remembered in time, and patted at someone - he hoped it was Callie. "M'okay. One minute." 

Callie's exhalation of disgust was audible. "Thank you for your help. I guess I can take it from here."

"Whatever you say, miss." Frank was cautiously unprying his eyes now, and saw a tan, muscular blond man, like a middle aged surfer, kneeling near him. "If I were you, kid, I'd see a doctor."

"Thank you." said Callie.

"Yeah. Thanks." Frank echoed faintly. He noticed with embarrassment that a crowd had gathered. Callie was peering at him anxiously. "I'm okay. Really." he tried to smile at her. The results must not have been too convincing, because she frowned and leaned closer to study his forehead. "Where's Joe?" 

"He went after the thief. Frank, I really think a doctor - "

"I'm fine." he tried smiling again, and this time it must have been better, because after a moment, she smiled back tentatively. 

A pair of familiar tennis shoes came to a screeching halt beside him. "Lost him." Joe sounded breathless. He dropped into a crouch next to Frank and looked at him closely. "I'll get us a taxi and we can check out the emergency room."

"Mr. Macho doesn't want a doctor." 

Joe raised his eyebrows and he and Callie exchanged a meaningful look. 

"Cut that out!" said Frank irritably. "It's just a bump." His hand rubbed the beginning swelling at the back of his head where he'd hit the curb, and he grimaced. "Two bumps."

"Okay," said Joe slowly. "Think you can stand?"

"Yeah." Joe helped him to his feet and Frank swayed and clutched at him. 

"Take it slow. I think lunch might be a good idea about now."

For once, Callie didn't laugh. "I think you're right. Do we still have a table?"

"Sure." Joe guided his brother toward the table they'd abandoned. "Boy, you should have seen the traffic slam to a halt when you bounced off that curb. Good thing there's those California Pedestrian laws." 

"Yeah, I'll have to write Sacramento my thanks." Frank sank gratefully into a chair and propped his elbows on the table, letting his head rest in his palms.

"It's not funny." Callie said sharply. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm fine." Frank rubbed at his forehead and looked up at her. "Of course, if you've got an aspirin, I could sure use one."

"I've got some in my purse." Callie handed him the aspirin, then dipped her napkin in a glass of the ice water that had been set out and dabbed at his forehead.

"Ow!" Frank pulled away.

"Hold still. That thing's swelling like a tennis ball. Here…" she emptied the ice from her water into her napkin and held it against the growing bump. "Hold that there." Frank flinched, but set his teeth and obeyed. After a minute, it did feel better.

"You see that guy?" Joe asked.

Frank shook his head. "It happened too fast. All I saw was his boots. And those I saw real up close and personal. You?"

Joe shook his head. "I didn't do much better. Medium height, baseball cap, sunglasses, sweatshirt without any decoration on it, sweats - coulda been anyone. Coulda been a woman, even. Oh - one thing - he got into a _car_. Little odd for a mugger, I thought."

"Hmm. What kind of car?"

"Dark blue Lincoln. Late model."

"Little classy for a mugger, too. What did he want my miserable wallet for? He's doing better than I am."

"Maybe that's how." Joe smiled up at the waitress as she approached. "I'm starved. Seeing you almost get run over has that effect on me. Let's order." 

Frank sighed. "Okay, as long as one of you is willing to stand treat. I'm a little short of change at the moment. At least until I can replace my Travelers Checks." 

"No problem. Then after lunch, maybe you'd better go back to the hotel and lie down."

"After lunch I need to take a tour of the beautiful downtown San Francisco P.D."

"Frank Hardy?" Frank opened his eyes and rubbed at them. He must have dozed off. 

"That's me." 

"Come with me, please." Frank rose and, closely followed by Joe and Callie, trailed after the uniformed police officer and took a seat by a battered metal desk. The officer shook his head at their story.

"Not much chance of retrieving it, probably, but we'll see what we can do. Lose much money? Credit cards?" 

Frank shook his head. "My Dad always taught me to carry my credit card separately, so I've still got that. Some Travelers Checks and some money, but not that much. My drivers license. Some pictures. My library card." 

The officer nodded. "Good idea. Well, at least you didn't make it too profitable for him. Nice bump. He do that?" Frank nodded.

"I chased him for a few blocks. He got into a waiting car and drove away. Is that normal here?"

The officer switched his gaze to Joe. "And you are?"

"Joe Hardy. Frank's my brother."

The officer nodded. "Well, Mr. Hardy, who knows. There's always some guy coming up with a new slant on ripping people off. What can you tell me about the car?" Joe went into as much detail as he could about the car and the appearance of the mugger. The officer, whose desk plate read "Clary" took everything down and asked them to wait while he typed up the report.

It seemed as though he was gone forever.

"Did you say he was wearing cowboy boots, Frank?" Frank snapped his eyes determinedly open and turned to Joe.

"Cowboy -? No. Um...black leather boots. More like - I don't know. Italian or something."

Joe shook his head. "I can't believe he outran me in boots."

"Well, he did have the help of a car. I guess I'd better go talk to someone about replacing my Travelers Checks after this." This day was starting to seem endless.

"You notice anything else? Anything at all?"

"For heaven's sake, Joe," burst out Callie. "How many times does he have to go over it? First with us. Then with the police. You've heard it all! That's all there is!"

Joe glared at her. "Sometimes repetition jogs something loose. Something you didn't remember right away."

"Well, leave it to you. It's not enough to have to go through this, now you have to try to turn it into a reason for a little detective work!"

"It _is_ reason for a little detective work!" Joe's voice rose indignantly. "My brother was robbed and nearly killed! I can't think of a better reason!"

"The robbery is the police's job! As for the rest, that was just an accident!"

"Oh, you know that for a fact do you?"

Callie narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course I do, Joe Hardy. Don't be paranoid."

"Look, maybe it seems paranoid to you - "

"Okay! Enough, already!" Frank winced and made a mental note that yelling didn't help his head. More quietly he continued, "C'mon. You'll get us cited for disturbing the peace. Just settle down." Joe and Callie exchanged one last glare and sat back down on either side of Frank. The atmosphere was distinctly chilly.

To Frank's relief, Officer Clary chose that moment to return with a neatly typed report in his hand. "Want to read that over and sign?" Frank read it quickly. "Thanks. We'll contact your hotel if we find anything. In the meantime, just try to forget it and have a good time. Hope the rest of your stay is more pleasant." Frank hoped so, too, but the polite distance Joe and Callie maintained as they headed for the exit didn't look too promising.

Flagging down a taxi took some time, and Joe and Callie remained silent and mutually distant throughout the wait. Frank tried to think of something that would start a conversation, but his feeble attempts were answered by monosyllables and his head was throbbing too much to think clearly. Finally, a cab pulled over at their signal and they all climbed in. Joe and Callie gazed out of opposite windows as the cab pulled away from the curb. Frank settled his head back and closed his eyes. This would almost be funny, if it wasn't so annoying. 

"Hold it, driver - pull over." Frank sat up straight at the sound of Joe's voice and realized that he had been dozing again. He stared out the window. 

"This isn't our hotel." 

"No, it's where I saw that guy get into the car. We should at least check it out. Can you wait, driver?" Joe climbed out of the car and Frank followed him. Callie hesitated, then pushed out of her door, too. She was frowning. 

Joe eyeballed the stretch of street consideringly. "It was right there, I think." He walked toward the spot he'd indicated, eyes scanning the road and curbs around him for anything out of place. Frank trailed him curiously, also studying the pavement. Callie watched them stonily. After a while, Joe shook his head in disappointment.

"Nothing, I guess. Well, it was a few hours ago by now. It was a long shot." 

The cabbie tooted his horn. "You're on the meter, kid."

"Yeah, I know." Joe slid into the back seat. "Thanks." Frank and Callie slid in after him. "I guess we'd better just go back to the hotel."

"Oh, may we?" Callie's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now that you've satisfied your curiosity?"

Joe turned to return her glare. "You know, Callie, I don't get you. Half the time you're begging to be involved in our cases, no matter how much in the way you are. Now one happens right under your nose, and all you want to do is ignore it. Why is that?"

Oh, boy, thought Frank. Here we go. 

Callie sat up straight. "Begging!" she repeated. "In the way!" 

"Callie," Frank began, "All Joe means - "

"Is exactly what I said." Joe interrupted firmly. "I can talk for myself, thanks, Frank." 

"And you do it so well, too." Callie agreed sweetly. "I especially like what you say while you're opening your mouth to change feet. I know it's difficult for you to accept that a woman might actually have a brain and know how to use it, Joe, but try to stay with me on this. I like to help with your cases - in fact, I _have_ helped with your cases - when you actually have a case. I don't go around trying to create them just because there's no pretty girl around to keep me otherwise entertained."

Joe's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't know a case if you fell over it."

"That's not true, and you know it. Why, I remember a time -"

"Your stop." The cabbie looked through the divider into the back seat. "Say, you kids married?"

Neither Joe or Callie answered. They both swung out of their opposite doors and continued their argument over the cab roof, moving it gradually to the front of the hotel. Frank followed more slowly, glancing at the meter and rummaging in his pocket. Oh. No wallet. He turned to Joe and Callie, who were working into a nice volume. The noise was like a relentless hammer on his aching head. 

"Hey. One of you guys needs to - "

Joe glanced at him. "Frank, tell the truth. Have we or haven't we had to rescue Callie more times than she's ever helped us?"

Callie put her hands on her hips. "Oh, really. Frank, see if Joe can remember how many times I've had to rescue you two."

"Kid, I need my money. I got another call." 

Something gave way inside Frank with an almost audible snap. "You want the truth?" he said in a rising voice "Here's the truth. I am truly sick and tired of this endless squabbling! It seems like you two can't get through a day lately without starting in on each other! I'm sick of the sound of it and most of all I'm sick of you dragging me into the middle of it! This is supposed to be our vacation, for Pete's sake, and I don't understand why you two can't just calm down and try to find a way to agree on something! I don't understand why it's so impossible for a few miserable days for you to work together as a team!" 

It would be hard to say who was more astonished - Joe, Callie, or Frank himself. Frank felt himself flush. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders. "I'm going for a walk," he mumbled in the silence that followed his outburst. "Somebody pay the cab driver. I don't have a wallet."

Joe paid the driver and turned to see Frank walking swiftly far down the hill. 

"I'll catch him." 

Callie grabbed his arm as he moved forward. "No, I think maybe he could use some time alone."

Joe opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Maybe Frank was right. Maybe it was time he and Callie tried to agree on something. "Okay."

Callie looked at him, hesitating. "Joe - you know I don't think you're a jerk. Not that you don't act like one from time to time, but, what I mean is, generally speaking, I think you're a pretty terrific guy. You know that."

Joe grinned. "Yeah. I feel the same way about you. Frank knows it, too. It's just been a really rough day and we're all on edge." He paused. "Not that you don't really bug me sometimes."

Callie took his arm, shaking her head laughingly. "Same here. What do you say we clean up for dinner? Frank can never stay mad long. He should be back soon."

Joe nodded. "Good idea."

By the time Frank had reached the Wharf, he was feeling pretty foolish. It wasn't like him to blow up like that, and certainly not at Callie and Joe. True, their bickering got to him sometimes, but usually he took it in stride. And it had been a nerve-racking day for all of them - it was just their way of letting off steam. He stood gazing out across the Bay at the bright island of Sausalito. It was beautiful in the late afternoon sun. He leaned his shoulders back against the wall of the building behind him and let his eyes slide closed. Well, he'd make it up to them. When he got back they'd go to dinner - his treat. He smiled to himself. Dad's treat, actually, since he'd have to use the emergency credit card, but he'd pay him back. And then later tonight, Joe could pick out a dance club. Callie'd like it cause there'd be dancing, and Joe'd like it cause there'd be girls, and after a hot shower and another couple of aspirin, he might even like it himself. 

The wind off of the Bay lifted his hair and felt cool on his aching forehead. After a minute, he decided reluctantly that he'd better start back up the hill. Someone brushed against him, jogging his shoulder and jabbing him hard in the ribs with something solid and cylindrical. 

"Hey - " he said, opening his eyes in annoyance. 

A soft voice in his ear murmured, "Just keep looking straight ahead. No sudden moves, no sudden sounds. This is a gun I have in your ribs, and at this range, there's really no chance of my missing."


	4. Chapter_4

****

Chapter IV

For a moment, Frank thought it must be Joe, making a joke, having followed him down to the Wharf. But when the metal cylinder pushed more deeply into his ribcage and the voice, still soft, urged him, "Now, please," he knew it wasn't. 

Keeping his voice as calm as he could he said, "If you're after money, you're out of luck. I was already robbed once today."

"No money. Just a little conversation. Now, if you would be so good?" He didn't dare look, but he felt a hand grasp his left bicep. Someone else took his right elbow in a more tentative grip. Together they propelled him forward. "Just keep your eyes ahead." The voice was faintly accented, and Frank was racking his brains to place it. "This gun has a silencer, so killing you would not be a problem. An inconvenience, certainly. Now, into the car, straight ahead. No fuss." 

Frank looked at the car parked ahead of them at the curb and jolted to an involuntary stop. It was a big, dark blue, late model Lincoln. Frank didn't stop to analyze what it might mean. His sudden halt had caused the more tentative guy to lose his grip on his right elbow, so if he were ever going to have a chance, this was it. He brought his right elbow up in a vicious jab, at the same time bringing his left arm down sharply, knocking the gun away from his ribs and dropping into a crouch, making his body limp and difficult to hold onto. Like a runner at the starting gate, he thrust himself low and forward. And almost made it. 

The man on his left, though taken by surprise, reacted quickly, slamming the gun butt into the back of Frank's skull. He was hampered by his awkward position and his unwillingness to draw attention to them so it was a glancing blow, but on top of Frank's earlier injuries, it was enough. He sprawled face downward on the brick, fighting to remain conscious. He heard the murmur of voices around him and decided, with bleary satisfaction, that at least the gun was probably tucked away. And his collapse seemed to be drawing a crowd. Maybe his attackers would just slip away.

He felt someone grip his shoulder and roll him onto his back. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was shrouded with a heavy grey mist. The soft, accented voice, from very nearby, murmured something about "nephew" and "diabetic"...what kind of accent _was_ that?...and insulin. Someone else was asking about an ambulance. He felt someone push at his left jacket sleeve, and sudden panic welled up inside him. What were they - ? Were they-? Wait a minute! He tried desperately to rouse himself, but his limp body disobeyed, lying resistanceless. He felt a prick inside his left arm and raised his right hand to push it away. But his heavy limbs wouldn't listen to the message his brain sent out and it missed, snagging instead somewhere around his wrist. A faint memory glimmered at the back of his brain and he tugged.

There was resistance, then give, then a cool slither across his wrist, followed by a faint tinkle on the bricks. It wasn't much, he thought hazily, but it was something for Joe and Callie to find...and they'd better find it, too, or Callie would kill him. His final, disquieting thought was that someone might have already beaten her to it. And then blackness. 

*

Joe glanced from the Travel Guide he was pretending to read to the clock. After five. He frowned and threw a surreptitious look at Callie on the next couch. He and Callie had cleaned up and changed clothes for the evening. Joe had had to smile when he saw Callie's crisp blue dress - obviously chosen to help Frank forget the trials of the day. But that was nearly an hour ago, and Joe's smile had long since been replaced by a frown of concern. It seemed to him that his brother had been gone much too long.

They had finally tired of waiting in their rooms and had moved down to the lobby to catch Frank as he entered, but so far there was no sign of him. 

Callie was leafing through the event folders gathered up by friendly passerbys, Frank having dropped them to pursue his thief. She looked unperturbed and Joe was mentally phrasing a casual reason to go hunting Frank when she looked up and met his eyes. 

"I know you'll think I'm being silly, Joe, but I'm starting to worry about Frank. It's not like him to be gone all this time."

"No, it's not." Joe was relieved to be able to talk about it. "Maybe I'd better wander down to the Wharf and look for him."

Callie put the event folders in her purse. "Maybe we'd both better." 

Joe shook his head. "You'd better stay here, in case he comes back. He can't have gone far with no money."

"And no identification." Callie went white. "Joe - you don't think - suppose that bump on his head is worse than we thought and he's in some hospital somewhere, with no way to identify him or contact us - "

"Don't let your imagination run away with you, Callie," said Joe sternly. "Frank's fine. He probably just - " his face lit up suddenly. "Callie! Suppose Frank stopped to watch some of those chess players! He could easily get involved with the game and forget all about us!"

Callie looked relieved. "Of course! I'll kill him!"

"I'll tell you what." Joe grabbed the Travel Guide. "You go to where we saw the chess players. I'll see if there's some electronics or computer or aeronautical place that might have caught his attention. We'll meet back here at - say - six thirty?"

Joe watched Callie start briskly down the street and started toward his end of the Wharf more slowly. He had marked everything in the guidebook that referred to computers or electronics or aeronautics, but the truth was that not much was open at this hour and most of it had an entrance fee of at least a few dollars. Frank was broke. _Fran_k, he thought, _if we find you gaping at some chess players, I'm going to murder you with my bare hands. And if we don't..._he pushed that thought away. They just had to, that's all.

His exploration turned up nothing, and by the time he reached the hotel again it was after seven. Callie was anxiously awaiting him in the lobby. 

She let out a gasp of relief at the sight of him. "I was so worried! I thought you'd disappeared, too!" 

Joe's heavy heart tumbled the rest of the way to his feet. "Then you didn't find him."

Callie shook her head. "The chess players were going home for the day. I asked if they'd seen anyone like Frank in the last couple of hours. I even showed them a picture - but nobody had. You either?"

Joe shook his head slowly. "Nothing."

"Now what?"

"Well - " Joe glanced outside at the darkening sky, forcing down a growing sense of dread. "I guess the next thing to do would be to start calling hospitals." 

He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt.

*

Joe woke from a fitful doze to see dawn filtering through the hotel curtains. It had been a short and unrefreshing night, divided between tense wakefulness and brief dozes haunted by dreams of Frank calling to him for help. He was half-relieved to be awake. 

He and Callie had struck out with the hospitals and Joe couldn't decide whether he was disappointed or relieved. His first impulse was to put Callie on the next plane east so he could concentrate on looking for Frank, but Callie had balked in no uncertain terms. 

"Just forget it, Joe. I'm not going anywhere without Frank."

"Callie, I just feel it would be the best thing. I can do a much better job, much faster, if I don't have to worry about you."

"Then don't worry about me. There's no reason to. Think of it as two heads better than one."

"Callie - " 

"Joe. No way. Frank may be your brother, but he's my boyfriend and there is no way I'm leaving here without him. Imagine if I said that to you. Imagine if I told you to go home and wait for my call that you'd found him. What would you say?" Joe was silent. Callie nodded. "I rest my case. What do we do now?"

Joe had rubbed a hand over his face. "Go to bed. Start fresh in the morning." 

That had precipitated a fresh argument, in which Callie had fiercely asserted that Frank would never rest if either of them was missing, and what kind of an unnatural brother was he, anyhow? 

This time Joe let her talk herself out, then said, "It's late at night in a strange city where we don't know anyone. There's really nothing we can do except make sure we're fresh and alert for tomorrow. I'm sorry, Callie, but you're wrong. This is exactly what Frank would say to do." 

Callie had finally reluctantly assented: partly because she knew he was right, and partly because she had no idea what else to do. Joe knew he was right, too, but the truth was that it went sadly against the grain.

So now it was morning and he felt anything but fresh and alert; but he also felt that he would go crazy if he didn't do _something_. So he rolled into the shower, then pulled on some clothes, and, avoiding looking at Frank's unused bed, left the hotel room.

He paused to listen outside Callie's door. It was silent. If she was managing to sleep he didn't want to disturb her, so he wrote her a quick note that said _Gone to look around. Meet you for breakfast. Wait for me._ and slipped it under the door.

The morning was fine - much less foggy than the preceding one - and ordinarily Joe would have enjoyed it, but today he was preoccupied. In his mind he was trying to narrow down his field of search. 

He started down the street Frank had taken the previous day, keeping his eyes open for anything that might pass for a clue. Frank couldn't have gone far. First of all, he had no money. Secondly, despite his protests to the contrary, he wasn't feeling all that well after that knock on the head.

At the end of the street he saw the water across the Embarcadero and paused. The water was the kind of place Frank would go to think things out. 

He knew he probably hadn't gone left, toward Ghirardelli Square, since he almost certainly would have stopped to watch, and probably speak to, some of the chess players. The right, toward the Wharf, was a good place to start, then.

He walked slowly along the Bay, trying to notice everything. A few of the vendors were already setting up for trade and he looked at them thoughtfully. One of them might remember Frank. It was worth a shot. 

There was no doubt in his mind that if something had happened to Frank and he had had any opportunity at all, he would have left him some kind of signal. But what? And what would even survive an evening of traffic on the Wharf? 

He sighed and started toward the nearest vendor. Something skidded under his foot and he was about to kick it away impatiently when he paused. And bent over. And went cold all over. 

For there on the ground, scraped and bent by many feet, was an identification bracelet. He cradled it in his hand and rubbed away the dirt. Sure enough, one side said "Frank". The other, "Love, Callie".


	5. Chapter 5

****

Chapter V

Joe sat for a moment, clutching the bracelet, his throat suddenly tight. So. At least he knew Frank had come this way last night...unless...could he have lost it in their travels earlier? Joe closed his eyes and concentrated. No. He was sure he had seen it on him at the police station. He glanced up again at the nearest vendor, rising quickly to his feet. He'd see if she could tell him anything pretty quick. Then he hesitated. That was just the sort of impulsiveness Frank was always warning him against. Much as he longed to run over and shake any information she might have out of her, he needed to go slow. He needed a story that wouldn't scare her. After a moment's thought, clutching the bracelet like a talisman, he strolled over to a table a young girl about his own age was piling with tee shirts. 

"Hi," he said pleasantly. "Beautiful day, huh?" The girl looked at him with an interest he fully returned. 

She was a petite girl with a cute, turned up nose and a dandelion fluff of blonde hair. The round eyes she fixed on him were as grey and sparkling as the waters of the Bay. 

"Can I help you? We're not really open yet, but if you see something you like..."

He grinned, right into her eyes. "I see something I like a lot, but it's not a tee shirt. And actually, that's not why I came over." 

She laughed, looking pleased and amused. "Pretty smooth. Okay, why did you come over?"

"I found this bracelet here last night. It was too late to tell anybody then, but it looks kind of valuable and I thought I'd check and see if anybody reported it missing. Or if maybe you'd noticed anybody wearing it." 

The girl wrinkled her nose in a cute fashion. "No-oo...not that I know of. Of course, my mother was on part of the afternoon, and she might have heard something. I can ask her later."

"Great." he nodded. "It looks like something somebody might miss."

"It's nice of you to try and find the owner." She held out a small, tanned hand. "I'm Dru Larkin. Short for Drucilla." She wrinkled her nose again. "Pretty awful, huh? Who're you?" 

"Joe. Joe Hardy." He accepted the hand and wished that he had more time to concentrate on it. "Was it you or your mother watching the table last night? I mean, I don't remember seeing you."

She laughed. "It was me. But I'll forgive you, since it was dark. Say - " Her eyes lit as a sudden thought struck her. "Is it a medical bracelet?"

"A medical bracelet?" Joe was puzzled. 

"Yeah. You know - those things people wear to warn you they're allergic or have a medical problem. We had a little excitement down here yesterday with a diabetic collapsing and I thought it might be his."

"No kidding." Joe had a funny feeling in his stomach. "What happened?"

"Well," Dru leaned her elbows on the table. There were few people about, and she seemed in no hurry to get back to work. "This young guy - about our age, y'know - collapsed right over there. His uncle and his - well, I don't really know who he was, but somebody with him, gave him an insulin shot, right on the street."

"No kidding," Joe repeated. His instincts were sending him nervous signals. 

"Yeah. It was just like watching **_911_**. I remember I felt bad, because I saw him come down and lean against that wall over there and I thought he was just, y'know, thinking, and so later when it turned out he was sick I felt like I should have known and helped him."

"And he just fell over?"

"Oh, no." Dru shook her head so that her fluff of hair danced. "His uncle and this other guy must have come looking for him. The uncle - he's the one that gave him the shot - said he forgets all the time. Which sounds kind of like a bad thing to me, because of course, if you're diabetic, you should take care of it."

Joe ground his teeth quietly but held his smile. He nodded. "Yeah. And they called an ambulance...?"

"Uh-uh. They were leading him to their car, see, and that's when it happened. That's when he just collapsed, I mean. I didn't actually see that part, cause I glanced away to adjust the tee shirts, but when I looked up he was on the ground, just all of a sudden. And so they gave him the injection." 

"And then...what. He revived?"

"Of course not, silly. It doesn't work like that. They carried him to the car. And then to the hospital, I guess. Or home. I don't know how serious that is."

Joe swallowed carefully. "You noticed a lot."

She looked a little uncomfortable. "It was slow. Dinner hour, y'know. And - well, he was cute."

"Say," Joe leaned forward, selecting his words with care, keeping his expression as ingenuous as he could. "Say, you know, that's where I found the bracelet - over there. It's not a medical bracelet, but it could still be his. Maybe I can find him. What did he look like?"

"I told you, cute. Tall. Dark hair. Blue jacket. But, gee, that describes a lot of guys in San Francisco."

"True." Joe tried to look thoughtful. "Okay. Maybe you could tell me what the car looked like?"

Dru frowned, remembering. "Um. Yeah. Big. Dark blue. One of those status-mobiles."

Joe was suddenly having trouble breathing. "Maybe a - a Lincoln?"

"I guess. Say - " she peered at him suspiciously. "Wait a minute. You a cop or something?"

"No." Joe was taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "But Dru - if you can - I know it's a long shot, but it's very, very important - if you can possibly remember any of the license plate."

She was still studying him, but she said cautiously, "Well, as a matter of fact...I mean it was slow, and this was the most excitement we've had and - you won't tell my mother, will you? If she knew I was staring around instead of paying attention here..."

"Never," Joe breathed devoutly. "Not under pain of death."

"Well. Okay. It was one of those vanity things, so I happen to remember it, though it doesn't make any sense. I can write it down for you." She pulled out a receipt and wrote on the back, handing it to him. 

Joe studied it. It said _TOSCA_. It didn't mean anything to him either, but no matter. At least he had a straw to cling to. 

"Say," Dru's voice interrupted his revery. "You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

"Dru, I can't. Not right now. But I promise, as soon as it's over I'll come back and tell you everything. Over dinner. Wherever you say."

"No kidding." Her mischievous smile peeped out, showing a dimple. "Okay, it's a date. You can almost always find me here, and my number just happens to be on that receipt. But don't keep me waiting long, Joe Hardy!" 

*

Joe hardly noticed the trip back up the steep hill he was so busy turning what he'd learned over in his brain. He could hardly wait to see Callie. 

As he approached the hotel, however, his steps slowed, then stopped. What did he really know, anyway? There was no good reason to believe the supposed diabetic was Frank. Same basic look, same time and place, and of course, that blue car. And his instincts. It wouldn't be good enough for Frank, who preferred solid logic, but it was good enough for him. Besides, Frank was the one who didn't believe in coincidences, and that car just kept popping up. He glanced at the license plate on the receipt in his hand and blessed Dru and his own good fortune. If everything worked out, he'd buy her the best dinner ever.

He entered the lobby to find Callie waiting for him. She looked as though she'd had about as restful a night as he'd had. She met his eyes questioningly and he said, "Let's go to the coffee shop and get some breakfast. I'll tell you what I found out."

They found an isolated booth and Joe pulled the bracelet out of his pocket. 

"First of all, I found this. It means that Frank was at the Wharf, because I remember seeing it on him at the police station." 

Callie took the battered bracelet and let it rest in her palm. She studied it, blinking hard. She turned away from Joe, and suddenly, dropped her face into her hands and began to cry. 

Joe was at a loss. "Callie - hey, c'mon, Callie. Don't. We'll find Frank. I promise we will. Aw, c'mon, Callie, stop, or you'll have me bawling in a minute." 

At that Callie gave a choked laugh. She fumbled for a napkin and dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose satisfyingly. "I'm sorry...it's just...I won't do that again. Promise." She drank from her water glass and composed herself. "I'm okay now. What else did you find out?"

"Well..." Joe hesitated. "It may be just a hunch, but..." He related the story Dru had told him. 

When he was done, Callie said in bewilderment, "And you think it was Frank? You mean somebody gave Frank some injection and took him away somewhere? Oh, Joe..." she swallowed hard a few times. Joe found himself having to swallow too, though it was difficult around the big lump in his throat. He had been trying not to think about that part which made him nearly frantic, and he wished Callie hadn't brought it up.

After a minute Callie said, more calmly, "But why, Joe? And what do we do now?"

"I don't know why," Joe admitted. "As for what we do next, we need to trace this license number - " He stopped dead. This wasn't Bayport, with a friendly Con Riley to help them out, and he wasn't Frank, who could possibly break into the San Francisco Department of Motor Vehicle records with his computer. So. What _did_ they do next? 

"Callie. You can't use Frank's computer can you?"

Callie shook her head. "Only as a word processor." They were silent a moment, gazing at their untouched breakfasts. "Joe. Do you think we should go to the police?"

Joe sighed. "And tell them what? That my eighteen year old brother hasn't even been missing twenty-four hours, but that we suspect foul play because of a story a tee shirt girl told us? What would you say to a couple of teenagers, Callie, if you were the police?"

"I guess. Oh!" She put her hand to her mouth. "I almost forgot! The police called. They found Frank's wallet."

Joe half rose from his seat. "They did! And if the robbery and Frank's disappearance _are_ connected, there might be a clue there! Let's -" he glanced at his breakfast again and forced himself to sit back down. No. This one time, he was curbing his impulsiveness. There was too much at stake. "Let's finish breakfast and see if they'll turn the wallet over to anyone but Frank."

Callie pushed her plate away stubbornly. "I'm not hungry. I just want to find Frank."

"Me, too," Joe said levelly. "But if we do find a clue, we don't want to lose the trail because we need to stop and eat. Better eat now, while we can."

*

It took all the coaxing at Joe and Callie's disposal, but they did get the wallet. Joe let Callie do most of the talking, since she seemed to have a mellowing effect on Officer Clary; using sweetness, then concern, then indignation, asserting that no one could possibly expect them to rouse Frank when he was finally resting from his injuries of the previous day and they knew perfectly well that they had been with him yesterday. A much frazzled Officer Clary finally let Joe sign for the wallet, and they hailed a cab back to the hotel.

"You were great, Callie," remarked Joe admiringly, opening the wallet. 

"Thanks," said Callie, a little distractedly. "Of course, that story won't help us much if we need to go to the police for help. How long do we have to wait?"

"Usually forty-eight hours, for an adult." 

"Is Frank an adult in California? Drinking age is twenty-one."

"I don't know." Now Joe was the distracted one, because there was something weird about that wallet and he couldn't put his finger on it. "Callie, I think Frank's money is still here. At least, twenty dollars of it is, and I don't think he had much more in cash. Remember, we each cashed one Travelers Check?"

Callie nodded. "Is anything missing?"

"Um. Let's see. Well, unless he was carrying his driver's license with the credit card, that's gone." 

Callie digested this. "He wasn't. He reported it missing, remember? So you think somebody with a blue Lincoln just wanted to know who Frank was, and where to find him. Is the hotel receipt there?"

Joe checked, then shook his head. "Of course, it might be with the credit card."

"Or he might have thrown it away."

"Yeah, right. This is Frank we're talking about."

They noticed the cab had stopped and got out. Joe started to pay him with Frank's twenty, then thought better of it. They might need that for evidence.

They entered the hotel lobby, and the desk clerk called after them, "You're here with Frank Hardy, aren't you?" Joe stared, then remembered that Frank had signed the register and nodded blankly. "I have a message for the friends of Frank Hardy."

Joe lunged for the envelope she proffered. Maybe it was a message from Frank! He could see the same thought in Callie's eager face. They realized at the same time that Frank would certainly address them by their names and frowned. 

He slit the envelope with his thumb. A small card with a magnetic strip on the back fell into his hand. He turned it over. It was Frank's driver's license. Wordlessly, he handed it to Callie. 

Remaining in the envelope was a piece of plain white paper. Joe unfolded it carefully. There was only a single line of type, looking as if it had come from an ordinary laser printer: "_Your friend will be returned to you in three days, unharmed. If you go to the police, he will be killed. This is the only warning you will receive_."


	6. Chapter 6

****

Chapter VI

Without talking about it, Joe and Callie moved toward the elevator. Callie held the license by the edges, as Joe had done, and slipped it back into the envelope. 

"Can we dust for prints?"

"Yeah. For what it's worth. These guys are pretty careless, but I doubt they're as careless as all that." 

They went to the room Joe and Frank shared and sat opposite each other on the beds. At last Callie said, "At least we know you were right about the police." She sat up straight with a gasp. "Oh! Joe! We just came from the police! What if they're watching us! You don't think - " 

Joe shook his head stubbornly, though he was suddenly queasy. "They had to know we didn't get the note yet, if they're watching us. And if they threw away that wallet they must know it would be found. They must be pretty sure of themselves, not to keep it or destroy it or anything."

Callie frowned deeply. "You know, Joe, I'm starting to get pretty mad."

Joe nodded, his jaw tight. "Me too."

She thought a while longer. "Maybe we should call your dad."

Joe shook his head. "Can't. He's in British Columbia somewhere fly fishing with Mom. That leaves only Aunt Gertrude, and I guess you know what kind of help she'd be."

"No. We mustn't upset your Aunt Gertrude." She sighed. "Any suggestions?" 

Joe sighed too. He could do fingerprints, but without Dad they'd never get a match anyway. And this analytical stuff was more Frank's thing. It wasn't that Joe couldn't do it, it was just that he usually didn't have to and he was a little nonplussed to find himself stuck with the job. He worked best as part of a team. He eyed Callie measuringly.

"I think," he said slowly, "That we should take Frank's advice and find some way to work together for a change."

Callie nodded solemnly. "You don't think - you don't suppose Frank would do this just to force us to get along? He was pretty mad."

"No," said Joe flatly "He wouldn't." 

Callie sighed tremulously. "I know. I just - almost hoped -"

Joe was studying the message. Something was scratching at the back of his mind, and he couldn't quite get a hold of it. "Let's retrace all of Frank's steps since he got here. Figure out why somebody would want him for three days." _Three days_...where else had he heard that?

Callie shrugged. "Well, he was with us the whole time. We caught a cab from the airport, checked in, had dinner, went to bed, got up, had breakfast, went to Alcatraz and Ghirardelli Square, Frank was robbed - "

"Callie!" Joe grabbed her arm, almost shouting. "Callie! That's not so! _We_ got up and had breakfast! Frank went for a jog!"

Callie looked puzzled. "So? Oh!" She stared at him. "That - that funny conversation!"

"Right!" Joe screwed his eyes shut, trying to recall every word. He had a good memory and a lot of experience, so when he opened his eyes he said breathlessly, "I'm _sure_ they said something about three days! And Frank said that the fog parted and gave them a good look at each other, so if they _were_ planning something and thought he'd overheard and could identify them - " 

"Oh, Joe!" Callie threw her arms around him impulsively. "Oh, Joe! That makes some sense at last!"

Joe grinned, a little embarrassed. "Not too bad," he admitted. "But the only other thing we have is a dark blue, late model Lincoln, and there must be a hundred of those in San Francisco. And this license won't help if we can't trace it."

"Let me see." Callie held out her hand for the paper.

"It's one of those vanity plates. We could probably call and pretend that we wanted the same plate, but I doubt they'd give out the name of the current owner. I think it's to - something. To SCA."

Callie read over the letters and smiled slowly. "Well, I can tell you one thing about the owner. They're an Opera buff."

Joe stared. "How can you tell that?"

"Tosca. It's the name of a famous opera by Puccini."

"No kidding?" Joe took the scrap of paper from her, studying it with new respect. "Guess we're learning to work as a team already."

Callie grinned in agreement, then gasped and sat up straight. She jumped to her feet, speechless with excitement. 

Joe stared at her, afraid that the strain had pushed her over the edge. "Take it easy, Callie. You want to breathe in a bag or something?" 

Callie shook her head, snatching up her purse and emptying it on the bed. "I saw - I think I read - here!" She routed among the lipstick and comb and note pad and event flyers and ended by waving one triumphantly. "Read this!"

Joe smoothed out the crumpled flyer and read it curiously. It was announcing the season opener for the San Francisco Opera. There would be a special Gala performance of **_Faust_**, with the role of Marguerite being sung by Bolshoi Opera star Galina Kareechniva. As a special fundraiser, the _Romanov Rose_, a necklace designed by Faberge for the Romanov Court, would be used during the famous jewel scene. The necklace had not been seen by western eyes since the Soviets came to power in Russia. Joe didn't know what Faust or the jewel scene were, but he did know that jewels like that were worth a fortune and that the people that attended such an event would be worth a fortune as well.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Okay. I see an opera connection, but it's kind of weak. What makes you think - "

"The date." Callie gasped. "Look at the date." 

Joe's eyes skipped down to the date. September third. Just three days from today. 

*

Frank furrowed his brow, just aware of the sound of voices on the rim of consciousness. At first he thought it was Joe and Callie fighting again and he wished they'd stop and let him sleep. But gradually, the voices became more distinct and he realized that it was not Joe and Callie. Yet they were still familiar and he groped to recognize them. 

"...kidnapping is a felony?" said one voice.

"And grand theft isn't? What did you think we were involved in, babe?"

"I don't know." There was a silence and Frank started to drift back to sleep when one of the voices started up again. "No killing. Promise me that this is as far as it goes."

The next voice was an indistinct mumble. 

"That's what you say. What does _he_ say?" More mumbling, and that was worse than talking, because his ear automatically strained to make sense of it. 

"Three days. You'd better hope it's over in three days. Have you seen him? Do you have any idea what can happen when you give drugs to somebody with a head injury? What if he has a concussion? Did you think of that?" 

__

Three days...three days...that nagged at Frank, trying to get his attention. He tried to lift his right hand to rub at his head, which didn't seem to be working at all. It made it halfway and sprang back in some odd fashion. 

He frowned more deeply. He tried to open his eyes to look, but his lids seemed to have lead weights on them. Three days...three days...who had been arguing about three days? And where were Joe and Callie? 

He tried lifting up his head, but even with his eyes closed everything dipped and spun furiously. He held tightly to what felt like - what had to be - a bed. The voices rose momentarily in volume, but it didn't matter anymore. The bed seemed to give one more spin, then tilt him over the edge - into a deep, dark pit. Into blackness.

The next time Frank eased into consciousness he felt more alert. The arguing voices had stopped and he became aware of a hundred sensations, most of them unpleasant. His head felt as though a heavy-metal band had taken up residence in his brain and there was a maddening itching inside his left arm. He reached to scratch it. His right arm made it halfway and then sprang back and he ruffled his brows, trying to remember where that had happened before. 

"Just lie still, now. Take it easy." Something cool and wet landed on his forehead and he managed to pry his eyes open a slit. He must have the flu or something.

"Mom?" he mumbled. There was a short silence, then someone lifted his head, carefully avoiding the sore spot at the back, and put a glass to his lips. He drank deeply and felt somewhat better. He managed to open his eyes a little further and focus on the face floating nearby. Someone he didn't know. She looked familiar, but when he tried to concentrate on it, it made his headache worse, so he decided to forget it. After a moment another thought occurred to him.

"Are you a nurse?"

She looked at him a moment, then said, "Well, I'm your nurse. How are you feeling? You look a little better." She put her hand against his cheek and nodded. "Cooler."

"Am I sick? Where's Joe and Callie?" He tried to reach for her, but his arm was stopped again. "And what's wrong with my arm?"

She pulled a blanket up around his neck and placed her hands firmly on his chest. "Just lie still and don't talk. Sleep, if you can." 

He stared at her thoughtfully trying to place her, a hundred questions pressing against his brain, but somehow, he seemed to be taking her advice in spite of himself and his eyes were sinking closed. 

"I wish you'd tell me what's going on," he said drowsily. 

He felt the cloth on his forehead again and he heard her say, very faintly, as though she thought he was already asleep, "The less you know, the better."

*

Joe and Callie stood staring at the San Francisco Opera House, a little awed. 

"The first municipal Opera Company in the U.S. Wow." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "Any ideas how we're going to do this, partner?"

Callie flashed him a pleased smile. "Not really. Let's go in and play it by ear." 

They mounted the steps and were dwarfed by the enormous lobby. They were just glancing around when Joe caught sight of something that sent an electrical current through him. He took a step forward, then glanced back at Callie uncertainly. "Callie - " he hesitated, torn. "You see what you can find out. Look around. I'll be right back. There's something I gotta check out."

"But - Joe - what?" Joe was moving away too quickly to hear the rest. He was following the quick glimpse before it could slip out of sight, down a side corridor and through a door that led to a flight of steps. Every second counted if he had seen what he thought he had. And any second somebody could catch him wandering around past the "Staff Only" sign and throw him out. 

The stairs led into a labyrinth of dressing rooms and storage areas. Joe hesitated, looking around anxiously. Nothing. He swallowed, heartsick that he had lost the trail. Then the smallest flicker of movement up ahead sent him doggedly forward, past rows of doors, until he came to one recessed slightly behind a pillar. He peered through the crushed glass window. Deep inside he thought he saw a glimmer of light. With infinite care, he turned the knob and slipped noiselessly inside.

The walls were lined with shelves, stacked with bottles and dishes and plants and shields and things he didn't even know the names of. There were tables in one corner stacked with antique armaments; too many varied items to take in at once. He started forward silently. The light was clearer now, just a faint glow in a far corner, and as he moved toward it he thought he could distinguish the back of someone's coat from the shadows. Rounding one of the shelves, he took cover behind a life-sized stuffed horse and watched for a minute. The figure was perfectly still. Joe blinked in perplexity. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was just another prop? Cautiously, he stepped out from behind the horse and moved toward it. 

He didn't make a single sound. He even held his breath as he approached. But just as he moved out of the shadow and into the faint glow of light, the figure swung round, suddenly animated. 

Joe gasped at the unexpected movement, but that wasn't all that made him gasp. There was also the small, neat revolver in the figure's hand. Pointed directly at Joe's ribs. 

****


	7. Chapter 7

****

Chapter VII

They stared at each other across the revolver in the dim light. The expression on the figure's face showed quickly surprise, then exasperation, then extreme displeasure. After a moment, the man eased the hammer back into neutral position and lowered the gun. "Joe Hardy," he said dryly. "Somehow I'm having trouble picturing you as an opera buff." 

"I'm not," drawled Joe pointedly. "How about you?"

"Actually, I'm very fond of the opera."

"And of course that's why you're here."

"Of course. Speaking of being here, surely you're not alone. Where is your ubiquitous brother?"

Joe met his eyes steadily. "Funny. I was just going to ask you the same question." 

An expression flitted across the man's non-descript face and was gone before Joe could identify it. "What are you saying?" he asked with sudden sharpness.

"Oh, come off it," Joe sank down onto a prop trunk, suddenly weary. "Frank suddenly disappears. The Gray Man appears, just as suddenly. Seems like a pretty clear connection to me."

The Gray Man's face grew grave. "Frank's disappeared? When did all this happen? And what are you doing in San Francisco? Besides getting underfoot?" 

"We were supposed to be having a vacation. Now we're looking for Frank."

"We?" 

"Me and Callie Shaw."

"Frank's girlfriend," the Gray Man nodded, remembering. "Why the Opera House? I find it as difficult to picture Frank here as I do you."

"It's the best lead we've got."

"Tell me." 

Joe hesitated. The Gray Man worked for a top secret government agency known as the Network that worked to prevent terrorism and other threats to national security. Joe and Frank had helped him more than once since their first meeting following the death of Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton, in an explosion from a terrorist bomb. Technically, he and the Gray Man were on the same side, but in the past they hadn't always seen eye to eye on how to do things. 

The Gray Man read the hesitation correctly. "Joe. Maybe I can help." It was all the encouragement Joe needed. The Gray Man took a seat opposite him on a prop crate as Joe poured out the story of their first day and night in San Francisco, up to the present. When he finished, the Gray Man's expression was inscrutable. After a silence he said, "Joe, I'm going to ask you to do something. You're not going to like it, but you have to believe me when I tell you it's for the best."

Joe eyed him narrowly. Any hopes he'd had of help from the Gray Man were wavering. "What?"

"Take Miss Shaw and leave San Francisco. I'll try to find out everything I can about Frank and keep in touch." 

Joe gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Right. You must be kidding."

"Joe, it's important. A matter of national security."

"So you're telling me that whatever Frank's mixed up in is a matter of national security? What's this all about?"

"I can't tell you. And I can't be sure about Frank. I'm just saying that we have a very delicate operation here and your poking around could jeopardize everything. Go home. I'll be in touch. I promise."

Joe was silent, his jaw working. "So you're saying you won't help me?" he blurted.

"I'm saying I _will_, as far as is in my power - but that you have to go back to Bayport and leave this to me."

"No way."

"Joe - "

"You heard me. What did you expect?"

"Joe. You know Frank. He'd be willing to risk his life for something this important. In fact, he has."

"Maybe. Probably. But it's one thing for him to risk his own life. It's another thing for me to risk it for him. Besides, all those other times he had me backing him. Now..." Joe swallowed hard. For one terrible minute he thought he was going to bawl, right in front of the Gray Man.

"Joe, listen to me. We're talking about one person's life balanced against a potential threat to thousands - maybe millions - "

"We're talking about my brother's life!" Joe clenched his fists. "Geez, that's how you people work isn't it? Is that what Iola's life was to you - just one more sacrifice for the greater good? Well, it's not going to happen to Frank! Not Frank! Do you hear me?"

For a minute, the Gray Man looked ashamed. "I'd forgotten about Iola." He studied Joe tiredly. "So. You're not going anywhere."

"You got that right."

"And I suppose I can't convince you to back off and wait for me to find out what I can."

Joe shook his head. "I'd appreciate any help you can offer. But this can't wait. Every minute may count." 

The Gray Man studied him. "It just figures that you two would turn up in the middle of this mess."

"Look, why don't you try telling me what's going on? Maybe I can help."

The Gray Man shook his head. "Can't. You don't have clearance. You know the rules, Joe."

Joe shrugged. "Then I guess it's good-bye and good luck."

"All right. For now. But if you interfere in any way with my investigation I'll see to it that you're shipped back to Bayport. And I won't ask next time."

"You have to catch me first."

The Gray Man chuckled, then sobered. "I _will_ see what I can do for Frank." 

Joe nodded. "Thanks." But as he made his way back upstairs, he knew he'd have to watch his step. The Gray Man didn't want them around and he had agents everywhere.

*

"Joe! There you are!" Callie's voice brought Joe's attention back to the lobby. He saw Callie standing by the box office with a young woman just a few years older than themselves. "Joe, I'd like you to meet Alissa Grant. She's assistant to the manager here, and she's been telling me such interesting things about the necklace! Alissa, this is Joe Hardy."

Joe whistled silently. Alissa was tall - nearly as tall as he - and wand slender, with her dark hair cut close to her head, accenting an elegant face with high cheekbones and large, wide set dark eyes. "You were right, Callie," he blurted. "There is a lot to see at the Opera." He realized what he'd said and blushed, while both Callie and the girl laughed.

"Thank you very much." she extended her hand. "Nice to meet you. Are you an Opera Buff too, or is there something else I can do for you?"

Joe had a lot of suggestions and none of them had to do with opera, but this was neither the time or the place. "Well, we were wondering...we were reading about that necklace, the Romanov Rose, and we wondered if there was any chance of seeing it."

Alissa nodded. "Certainly. I was just telling Callie. It will be on display right here, for one day and one day only - the day of the Gala. That's a picture." She indicated a large, glossy picture was posted by the box office. It was an intricate interweaving of gold studded with pearls and dangling small flowers of emerald and diamond and sapphire, and set at the center with an enormous ruby. The ruby was surrounded by a complex filigree that looked like flower petals. 

"It's stunning!" Callie exclaimed.

Alissa nodded. "It's Faberge. It was created for the last Czar's court."

"Must be worth a bundle," observed Joe.

"Priceless," Alissa corrected. "The stone alone is valuable enough, without the gold and smaller stones, Faberge workmanship, and historical value. Its being on loan is an act of good faith."

"Aren't you afraid it will be stolen?" 

Alissa laughed pleasantly. "I'd like to see somebody try. The security is fierce."

"But during the performance," Callie persisted. "No one can guard it while it's onstage." 

"No one but a few thousand witnesses in the audience. Backstage it will go straight from the stage to me. Four guards will walk me to the wings and watch me give it to the Stage Manager, just a few minutes before it goes onstage. After it comes offstage, I'll be there waiting to take it from Jerry and walk it back to the safe with my armed guard. Besides. There's the curse."

"Curse?" said Joe and Callie together.

"Some people believe that the necklace is cursed. It was the last piece of jewelry Faberge made for the Czaress Alexandra. She wore it for the first time when she went to see Rasputin - the evil priest who had so much influence with her. He asked for it in payment and she gave it to him. It seems she never could refuse him anything, and he had promised to cure her son of hemophilia. 

Anyway, a short time afterward, Rasputin's enemies finally succeeded in killing him. They had tried on numerous occasions before, but with no success. They found the necklace and returned it to the Czaress. She wore it one more time - the night the Bolsheviks stormed the palace and took the Royal Family prisoner. Everyone involved with the necklace seemed to suffer disaster - first the invincible Rasputin, then the Royal Family. No one has worn it since."

They were silent for a moment after Alissa's story. "Wow," sighed Callie at last. "Where has it been all this time?"

"In a secret vault, where it was hidden by the museum curator of the Hermitage, the famous museum in Moscow. The curator was trying to prevent Stalin from selling all of Russia's national treasures."

"Wasn't he afraid to touch it himself? Why didn't it bring him harm?"

"I suppose he never wore it, and having it hidden, he didn't really handle it. Besides, it's just a story. A silly superstition."

Joe thought about everything that had happened to them since arriving in San Francisco and wondered if maybe there wasn't something to this curse stuff. But he said, "How about you? Aren't you scared?"

Alissa laughed. "Not me. I personally think that political revolution and double-dealing killed the people involved. But it should keep your more superstitious thieves away if the guards fail. One way or another, I'm walking those jewels." 

"Sounds like you've got a pretty important job."

Alissa made a face. "Well - a diverse one. I'm officially assistant to the manager. Actually, though, I'm a singer. 

I thought working at the Opera House would be a good way at least to be close to the Opera, but it was a dumb idea. I'd be better off in the smallest chorus part, I see that now, because at least I'd be singing."

"But you must be good," Joe insisted. "if they trust you like that." 

Alissa laughed again, with a shade of bitterness. "Oh. I'm good, all right. So good that they can't afford to lose me back here and won't even hear of me going near the stage." She was silent a moment. "Last year I had an audition with a famous singing teacher visiting from New York City. He said he'd be glad to take me on as a student if I ever got to New York. It would be a whole new start for me...he even has connections at the Met...if I could just get there. I keep saving, but between airfare and lessons and living expenses it takes a lot. Sometimes I think I'll be an old woman before I save enough." She blinked, as though she'd forgotten they were there, and laughed again. 

"Well, listen to me rattle on! Teach you to give me a sympathetic ear! I don't see people my age around here that much, so I guess I got carried away. Not too many young people are Opera buffs."

"Oh, I am," said Callie enthusiastically. "I just love it. I guess a lot of people in San Francisco do. I saw the cutest car yesterday - a big blue Lincoln with a license plate that read "TOSCA". Can you imagine?"

Alissa nodded. "They are cute. We have a small fleet of them, thanks to one of our patrons. The others have plates that read "MIMI", "AIDA" and "CARMEN". They're handy for chauffeuring big stars and big clients around."

Callie and Joe exchanged a startled, breathless glance. "Oh!" Callie, tried not to sound too anxious. "They're yours, then!"

"Not mine, certainly, but they're for the use of the Opera House."

"But I'll bet you can take a spin in them whenever you want," Joe proffered his most charming grin, hoping he didn't seem too obvious. 

"Not me," Alissa smiled. "I'm but a lowly flunky. The only reason I'm allowed to walk the jewels is because more important people need to be available to schmooze with the elite. 

No, I've ridden in them once or twice, but they're mainly for use of the Board of Directors, visiting dignitaries, and important errands. There's a very short list of people that can sign those babies out." Joe would have given a lot for a look at that list, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a casual way to ask about it.

"Say," he said finally, "I know you're busy, but maybe you could show us around? Callie's been dying to see this place."

Alissa gave them a tour of the Opera House. The magnificent building awed Callie as much as Alissa herself awed Joe, but it didn't seem to lead them any closer to Frank. Joe was trying to think of some way to get a look at that list of automobile users without attracting too much attention to his interest.

"So," he ventured at last, as Alissa was walking them back to the entrance. "Do you get a lunch break? Want to join us for lunch?" Callie raised her eyebrows at him, and he winked at her reassuringly. 

Alissa looked gratified. "That would be nice," she admitted. "Just let me sign out."

"Okay. Mind if we walk with you, or is that against the rules?"

Alissa smiled at him. "Be my guest." 

They followed her back to the office and watched as she opened a log and filled out her name and the time. Joe casually glanced at one or two other books beside it, wondering if one served a similar purpose for the cars. He also eyeballed the lock on the door. 

It looked like an old fashioned brass specimen. Shouldn't be too tough to pick. Of course, that left the front door, which wouldn't be any too easy. He frowned thoughtfully to himself, but quickly turned it into a smile as Alissa said "Ready?" and led them to the door.

*

"Well, " said Callie, a little testily, "we didn't get much out of that. Except a lunch date for you."

"Not true," Joe corrected cheerfully. "We got a lot. We now know, for example, that there's a tech rehearsal tonight and that the crew will be there late - a good time for a little inconspicuous black bag work."

"What kind of black bag work?" 

"I'm determined to get a look at that auto check-out roster. I know I can break into the office, but I'm not nearly as confident about breaking into the Opera House. That's why it's important to know how late it will be open. We should be able to be fairly inconspicuous among the tech crew."

"Okay. That makes sense," Callie admitted grudgingly. "Well, I've got something, too, though it's not much. Did you notice that Alissa called the stage manager Jerry? That's the name of the guy Frank heard arguing."

Joe stopped dead. "Really? You're sure?"

Callie nodded. "Of course, it's a pretty common name, so it may not mean anything, but I thought it was interesting."

"It is. Good work, Callie."

Callie wasn't smiling. "Something else we have to look at, Joe, and you're not going to like it. I think we have to look at Alissa. She has both means and motive."

"Alissa!" Joe gaped at her. "No way! What motive?"

Callie sighed. "Joe, I know she's pretty, but think about it. She's dying to go to New York and start over, but she needs money. She's the one who walks the jewels to this Stage Manager, Jerry, who happens to have the same name as this guy Frank heard arguing. As near as we know, they're the only two people who actually get to handle the jewels. The car we think Frank disappeared in belongs to the place where she works." 

To himself, Joe had to admit it sounded pretty damning. It was the same kind of relentless logic Frank used, but ultimately, Joe liked to trust his instincts. "She said she doesn't have access to the cars."

"She could have lied."

"Why would she spill her guts about her motive?"

"I don't think she meant to. You saw her face."

Joe set his jaw stubbornly. "I trust Alissa. What was the name of the woman Frank overheard? Do you remember?"

"N -no..." Callie hesitated. "But we can't eliminate her, Joe."

"My instincts tell me she's okay."

"Your instincts, when it comes to a pretty face and a pair of long legs are very much in question! It's the best lead we have! I wouldn't think you'd put some girl ahead of finding your brother!"

"I wouldn't!" Joe was stung, too much so to guard his tongue. "I'm just saying it's circumstantial evidence and we can't bet on it! What we know about what Frank overheard isn't all that clear, Callie! He talked about it for about five minutes, and a lot has happened since! Now, if we had been able to go over it in detail, maybe we'd have something to go on, but - "

Callie's face went red, then white. "Which is my fault, I suppose! Okay - you're right, I admit it! If I had let you two pick it apart for a couple of hours the way you wanted to maybe we'd have something solid right now. Or maybe this wouldn't have happened at all and Frank would be here, not missing, or for all we know, worse." Callie was crying now despite her best efforts to stop, and Joe felt his anger leave him in a rush. He put his arm around her. 

"All right, Callie. Everything's okay."

"It's not okay, Joe," cried Callie passionately, dashing her hands impatiently at her eyes. "Frank has been gone for almost a full day and I'm so scared, and it _is_ my fault! I should have just butted out!"

Joe shook his head. "Actually, I thought we were being followed at the Pier and I didn't do anything about it either because I thought it was my imagination. Now I realize that we _were_ being followed and somebody was just waiting to get Frank alone, so I guess it's my fault, too - but honestly, Callie, I don't think it's either of our fault. How could we have even guessed? It's really just the fault of those creeps that grabbed Frank. And Frank _is_ alive, Callie, I know it. On this one you can trust my instincts."

Callie sniffed, and after a minute, nodded. "Okay." She blotted her face with a tissue, then looked at him seriously. "Joe, I think we should make a pact. No more fighting. And if we find Frank safe and sound, no more fighting for the rest of the trip."

Joe grinned. "I'd like to say forever, but I guess that's not possible, huh? You've got a deal. No more fighting for the duration. 

Here's the hotel. Let's go up and get our surveillance gear together for tonight."

Callie stared at him. "You don't mean you brought that stuff with you?"

"Me? No way. I'm on vacation. But I'm betting on big brother - the guy that makes the Boy Scouts look unprepared."

Joe opened the door to his hotel room and went to the closet. He pulled out Frank's suitcase and started going through the pockets. 

"Flashlight. Good. We could use another one, but we can buy that. Ah. Lockpicks. Very good. Miniature surveillance camera, and...yes! The hand held copier. Good boy, Frank."

Callie was staring. "I knew Frank was a little compulsive, but, really."

"Yeah. And I guess I'm not going to laugh at him about it. Not for a little while, anyway. Let's have a pow-wow, then we'll go through our clothes for some dark stuff to wear."


	8. Chapter 8

****

Chapter VIII

This time when Frank awoke he felt much more himself. He had some vague memories of what had gone before, but wasn't sure if they were real or dreams. He let his eyes drift around the unfamiliar room. He lay on a large, old fashioned poster bed against one wall. The shades were drawn under the yellow curtains of the single window by a beat up dresser. 

He tried to sit up, but something pulled at his arm and he pushed back the blanket to look. His right wrist was handcuffed to the metal mattress support. Wow, he thought, I must have really been out of it not to think of that. The cuff was fastened between two slats, limiting movement, but by moving carefully he eased into sitting position. 

He noticed his jacket hung neatly over a nearby chair back and a closet door on the opposite wall. That was all he had time to see before a key rattled in the lock and the door swung inward. A tall woman with wavy, greying hair entered, balancing a tray on her hip. She stopped dead at the sight of him and they stared at each other a moment.

"You're awake," she said finally. Frank nodded. She lowered the tray onto a chair and locked the door behind her. Frank noticed that the tray contained a bowl of ice, a pitcher of water with a glass, some clean washcloths and a pile of gauze. 

She turned from the door. "Let me take a look at your head."

Without ceremony, she took his head in her hands and looked critically into his eyes. After a second she nodded, satisfied, and bent his head toward her, gently fingering the bump on the back. Frank winced and pulled away. She ignored him, pushing the hair off his forehead to study it closely. 

"Much better," she said in a pleased tone. "How do you feel?"

"Confused." He rubbed at the back of his head. "Where is this?"

Her expression changed, becoming guarded. She turned away to pour a glass of water. "That's not important. Drink this." 

"It's important to me." But he took the glass, studying her. "I know you from somewhere."

She avoided his eyes. "This isn't the first time you were conscious. Are you hungry?"

Frank suddenly became aware of an empty feeling in his middle. "Starved," he admitted.

"I'll get you something to eat."

"Look, I just want to know - " 

The door closed firmly behind her. He heard the key turn in the lock. He slumped back against the headboard in frustration, yanking irritably at the handcuff with so much force that he cried out in pain. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Breaking his wrist wouldn't help. That was something Joe would do. 

__

Joe. And Callie! They must be worried sick. 

He glanced at his watch. 8:30PM. Then he had been gone about - four hours. He caught sight of the date and sat up straighter with a gasp. September first! Could his watch be wrong? It seemed to be working okay. So he had been here more than twenty-four hours? 

He leaned his head back and concentrated hard. What could he remember? Those voices. Something about...kidnapping being a felony. And...grand theft. He opened his eyes. Theft of what? But nothing came to him. Then some argument about killing...he winced. Probably him. And...and three days. He murmured it aloud, trying to grasp the elusive thread. There was something...why wouldn't his head work? He glanced at his watch and shifted fitfully. One day gone. He had to get out of here!

He heard the key in the lock and forced himself to look neutral. The woman reentered with another tray, this one holding a bowl of tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk.

"It's not a lot," she said apologetically, "but you haven't eaten in a while and whatever they gave you sure didn't agree with you. I think you'd better take it slow."

"Looks great," said Frank appreciatively. All of a sudden he felt hollow.

"I don't suppose you're left handed?" Frank shook his head. "Can you manage, do you think, or shall I feed you?"

Frank recoiled at the thought of being fed. "I'm sure I'll be fine." He tentatively tried the soup. It tasted good, and he was pleased to see that he managed rather neatly. He was hungry, and no wonder, he thought, considering his last meal was lunch yesterday, and he made his way through it quickly. He glanced up as he finished and surprised a look of motherly amusement at his appetite, but as his eyes met hers, her expression went blank again and he decided that he had imagined it. He swallowed the last of the milk and sat back.

"Thanks."

She gave a glimmer of a smile as she took the tray and shook her head. "The resilience of youth. Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Yes," responded Frank bluntly. "I'd like to leave."

Her expression hardened. "And so you will. In just two days."

"You're sure of that, are you?"

For a second she looked scared, then determined. "Yes, I'm sure. Because I have it all figured out. Whenever anyone comes to that door, even if you think it's me, I want you to lie down and pretend you're still drugged. If they think you've come round they'll want to inject you again, and I don't think that stuff was very good for you."

Frank, whose brain still felt wrapped in a soft fog, had to agree. "You think they'll buy that one injection kept me out for three days?"

"Combined with that knock on your head? They'll believe me. They have to. Besides, they have more important things to worry about."

"I'll bet. What things, exactly?"

The woman looked startled, as though surprised to find she'd been talking out loud. She set her jaw and faced him squarely. "Now, you listen to me. I've made it my job for the next two days to see that you stay hale and hearty and leave here in one piece. That means you do as I say. It means you lay low. It means, most of all, that you don't ask any questions. None. You understand? The less you know, the safer you are."

"Which isn't very safe at all, is it?" 

She rose abruptly, picking up the tray. 

"Two days. Two days, and you rejoin your friends. Forget this ever happened. It'll all be just a bad dream." She unlocked the door and, balancing the tray on her hip, pulled it closed behind her. He heard the key turn in the lock. 

So. They knew about Joe and Callie. He shuddered with sudden fear. He looked desperately from the window to the closet, then from one piece of furniture to another, back to the cuff on his wrist. Then he stretched out on his stomach to study the way the bed fit together.

"Sorry, lady," he muttered "But it's every prisoner's responsibility to try to escape. And one way or another, I'm breaking out of here."

*

It was 10:15PM by the luminous dial of Joe's digital watch as he was squatting with Callie in an alley, watching the stage entrance to the Opera House. There was a sharp breeze blowing and Callie shivered in her thin cardigan. 

"Joe," she whispered. "It's been almost an hour. What are we watching for?"

"An opening," Joe whispered back. "But I'm not sure how much longer they'll be in there. Another half hour and we'll check out the door and see if there's some way to bluff our way in." 

Just then a van pulled along the curb and they ducked low. They could just make out the words "Elite Catering" on the side in white letters. A boy near their age got out and went around to the back, lifting out a large tray filled with wrapped sandwiches. Callie rose cautiously to her feet. 

"Wait here," she whispered. "Follow when I signal."

"Callie - _wait_ - " Joe made a grab for her, but Callie was already approaching the driver, smiling disarmingly. She ran a quick hand through her blonde hair.

"Hi!" she said lightly. "Are you the caterer?"

The boy eyed her appreciatively. "Yeah."

"Well, I've been on the lookout for you. We've got a pretty hungry crew in there." The boy glanced at his watch. 

"I'm a little late," he said apologetically. "I got held up in traffic."

"No problem. Why don't you follow me?" Callie led him toward the stage entrance, gesturing behind her back for Joe to follow. Joe darted after them, using every available scrap of cover and chuckling to himself.

Callie sashayed unconcernedly to the door, her sharp eyes catching sight of the doorbell. She rang it. The door opened almost immediately. "Elite Catering," she said unspecifically. And sweetly to the caterer, "Let me hold the door for you." She held the door while he passed through with his large cardboard tray and continued to hold it while Joe slipped in behind him and flattened himself against the wall, moving carefully out of the light. Then she followed the caterer to the backstage area.

Joe moved in the other direction, toward the audience side doors and out into the lobby, thankful for Alissa's tour earlier that day. The lobby was eerily silent, but he didn't feel comfortable enough to turn on the flashlight. Instead he moved by memory, using the faint streetlight glow coming in the windows for illumination. 

When he thought he was at the right door he risked the flashlight briefly, dulling the glow with his hand. Bingo.

He knelt down by the lock and took out his lockpicks. Now he would have to use the light, and, holding the flashlight in his mouth, he worked delicately at the lock. It gave way with a faint click, and the knob turned gently under his hand. With a soft exclamation of triumph he crept inside, closing the door behind him.

Muting the flashlight with his shirt, he made his way to the desk and picked up the rosters sitting there. Then he carried them behind the desk and knelt to check them out, out of view of the door.

The first one was an employee entrance/exit log. He was about to discard it when it occurred to him that it might be interesting to know who had been where during Frank's robbery and disappearance. He pulled out the pocket copier and flipped to the pages with the correct dates. A curl of paper ejected from the other end of the copier and he put the log aside.

The next one showed call time and sign in for the performers. Joe made copies of the proper date pages there, too. Then he turned to the third log.

This one had pages labeled with the four license plates Alissa had mentioned. Joe sighed with triumph and picked up the photocopier. 

Just then a light flashed on outside the door, followed by the sound of footsteps. Joe caught his breath, turning off the flashlight and ducking under the desk, willing the footsteps to go by. 

They stopped right outside the door.

He heard the rattle of a key in the lock. Slowly, the knob began to turn. Then the door swung inward, and a click flooded the room with light. 


	9. Chapter 9

****

Chapter IX

Joe hunched his broad shoulders deeper into the kneehole of the desk. He sure hoped that whoever it was wasn't looking for these logs. But his visitor stayed on the other side of the desk.

Joe heard him drag something across it, then a faint beeping sound. He's just using the phone, he thought in intense relief. As long as he uses it and gets out. 

There was a pause during which Joe forgot to breathe and then a voice said, "Hi, babe. Me. How's everything?" Another silence. "Listen to me. I haven't got much time. Cobra dropped off another hypo for the kid's second injection." 

Joe grit his teeth and listened as hard as he could.

"I know what you say, babe - I just don't think one can keep him out for three whole days. I know, I know, but that was an accident. Besides, it was Cobra's doing." Pause. "I _am_ thinking of his safety. And ours. Right now, unconscious is about as safe as it gets. Look, we can argue about this later. I should be off here in about half an hour. I'll come right over." Another pause. "Yeah. Me too. See you soon."

Joe heard the phone return to its cradle, followed by a heavy sigh. Then steps turned toward the door and the room returned briefly to darkness, followed by a slice of light as the door was opened and then the sound of a lock securing it shut.

Joe stared at the logs in his hand in an agony of indecision. He needed the information in those logs, but he also needed to follow that guy. From the sound of it, he could lead him directly to his brother! Determinedly, he tucked the log under his arm and left the other two on the desk, unlocking the door and slipping silently through it.

There was no time for fancy tricks like relocking the door. In the faint light from the windows he saw a figure briskly turning the corner. Hugging the wall, he followed as far behind as he dared. The man opened a door ahead and disappeared behind it. Joe counted to ten and followed cautiously. It led to a short, dark flight of stairs with a light at the top. As Joe crept up them, he realized it was a side entrance to the theater, and that the hall of stairs was the device Alissa had showed them to keep the light from disturbing the rest of the audience as people entered and exited. It made an excellent place to spy.

For the first time he could see his quarry in the light - at least the back of him. He was average height and wiry, dressed in jeans and flannel shirt, with a slight bald spot. 

"Hey, Jer!" The man turned his head. "Grab a headset and give us a cue to cue on the final scene! I think we've got that lighting thing worked out!"

_Jer._ Joe's heart was hammering now. It was too many coincidences. This guy had to be involved with Frank's disappearance. What he needed now was some way to tail him.

He eased carefully back down the stairs and into the corridor, towards the back parking lot. If the guy took the BART system it would be no problem, but at this hour chances were he'd use a car, and Joe didn't have any wheels. 

He erupted into the parking lot and gazed around desperately. If somebody had left their door unlocked he could do a hotwire job. It was risky, and it made his conscience twinge uncomfortably, but if it meant keeping his best lead to Frank, he'd do it. And of course he'd bring it back. He started moving from car to car, testing the door handles.

"What on earth are you doing?" A voice behind him made him jump. He whirled around, grappling for a plausible explanation. Then his breath left his lungs in a rush.

"Callie!"

"Of course." Callie lowered her voice. "What are you doing? Did you find anything?" Joe remembered the log still clutched under his arm and nodded. 

"Yeah. I think so. Listen, in just a little while this guy-" he broke off at the sound of voices from the stage door. 

"You can lock up, Herb?" In a pool of light from the open door stood the man who had entered the office to use the telephone. Joe took a step backward under the cover of a nearby van and watched as the man pulled out a set of car keys. 

Joe clutched Callie's arm. "I've got to follow that guy!" He looked about wildly and finally noticed the van they were standing near. The caterer's van! He glanced toward the rear doors, where the driver was stowing his leftover gear.

"Say," he blurted "Can I borrow your van and take it for a spin? It's -a - a- fraternity initiation rite!" He clenched his teeth in what he hoped was a semblance of a smile. Callie and the driver both stared at him. 

"You must be crazy, man. It'd be worth my job."

"Look, I'll bring it right back. I'll even leave collateral..." Joe was watching out of the corner of his eye as the man he was following moved toward a serviceable sedan.

"Right. What kind of collateral?"

"Huh?" Joe blinked. "Um - her!" He pointed to Callie.

"Joe!" Callie gaped at him.

"Really?" The driver brightened. Gazing at Callie, he fumbled for the van keys and held them out to Joe. "What the heck. I quit and go back to school in two weeks anyway."

"Great! Thanks!" Joe grabbed the keys and pulled at the door handle, then he caught a glimpse of Callie's face and paused. "Think of Frank, Callie. And you - she better not look even mildly annoyed when I get back." He turned the engine over just in time to see the Stage Manager pull out of the parking lot.

Joe didn't even bother to follow at a discreet distance until they reached the main road. There he let a car or two get between them but even that made him nervous, trying to follow an unfamiliar car down unfamiliar streets at night. Finally the car slowed in a quiet, pleasant section of town and pulled over to the curb in front of one of the old, well preserved Victorian buildings. Joe started to follow suit, but there was no parking spot big enough for the van. 

He watched the man enter the front door of the building and drove the van around the block, looking for a place to leave it. He finally found a spot around the corner and sauntered in what he hoped was a casual manner to the lobby. There was no sign of the man in flannel.

There were six labeled bells and six mailboxes - probably, he figured, one apartment per floor. Past the security door he could see an elevator and a fireproof door labeled "STAIRS". He hesitated.

Probably he could pick the lock, though it would be hard to do it casually in the well lit entryway. And then what? Run from floor to floor, asking if anyone had seen his brother? Ring all the bells and see who appeared? And if he figured out which apartment, what then? Could he overcome the man in flannel and whoever was with him single-handed? And if he did manage that much, could he then escape quickly with his possibly unconscious brother? And if he failed, either join him in imprisonment, or risk losing all trace of him? 

Joe gave the wall a vicious kick. As much as he longed to bang on every door demanding his brother and to have the pleasure of beating the stuffing out of their friend Jerry, he had to play it cool. He couldn't come this far to lose it all on impetuousness. 

He took two deep breaths and removed a pad from his wallet to write down the names and floors of the apartments, smiling grimly to himself. Frank would be so proud. He hoped he got a chance to tell him about it. 

It wasn't much later that he was pulling the van into the Opera House parking lot. He had gotten an irritated radio call from the catering company asking why he was so long returning, which he had hastily explained away with a flat tire. Now he was going to have to explain to Callie, which would be a little trickier. 

He picked up his backpack in which he had stowed the surveillance equipment, the log, and his copies, and turned off the engine. 

Callie and the driver were seated on the curb, chatting amicably. The driver rose reluctantly. 

"So. How'd it go?"

"Okay." Joe handed him the keys. "Thanks a lot." 

"No problem. I kept trying to convince Callie here to go down the street for a cup of coffee, but she wouldn't budge. You've got a pretty loyal girlfriend."

"And _I_ kept trying to explain that it wasn't you I was being loyal to," Callie returned with a smile that told Joe that things would not be pleasant once they were alone. "Not by a long shot. You've got a lot of explaining to do, Joe."

"I know," Joe admitted. "But you'll forgive me. Believe me."

The driver opened the door and paused. "Say, I'm in this deep. Might as well go deeper. Can I drop you guys someplace?"

"Sure." Callie slid into the middle of the seat. "Me you can drop at the hotel. Him you can leave at the dog house." 

Joe hardly heard her. His eyes were fixed on the faintest of movements in the shadow of the building. For an instant, the headlights of a passing car picked up the suggestion of a non-descript figure. Then it was gone, as if it had never been.

*

Frank had figured out how the bed went together, just not how to get it apart with one hand and limited mobility. He fiddled with it for a few minutes then stopped, afraid the noise would arouse suspicion. What he needed was a plan.

Normally plans were his specialty, but his brain seemed sluggish, without its usual clocklike efficiency, and he found himself wishing instead for Joe's heedless impulsiveness. It wasn't usually the safest or neatest way, but it sure could be effective. 

He heard the sudden sound of footsteps in the hall and raised his head to listen. They stopped outside his door. Remembering the woman's warning he stretched out and closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing deep and even, the way his karate teacher had taught him. 

"I told you he doesn't need it. I don't see why you can't take my word for it."

"All this time? On one injection?"

"Well, you saw that knot on his head. Besides, I think he had an allergic reaction or something. For all we know another one might kill him."

The knob half turned, but the door didn't open. "Gabby. Honey. I know how you feel. And I know why. But - "

"You know how I feel? There's some innocent kid handcuffed to the bed in my spare room! The heck you know how I feel! Here-" There was a sudden, furious rattling of the lock. "See for yourself, then. Report to your master." 

Frank reminded himself to breathe.

"It's not like that, Gabby. If I thought I could get away with a lie..."

Gabby gave a sound between a laugh and a sob. "No, by all means, don't lie, Jerry. On top of thievery and kidnapping, that really would be too much."

The door swung inward and the light flicked on. Frank willed himself not to react; to relax, just relax. Footsteps came a short way into the room, then stopped. And fidgeted. Frank's heart skipped a beat. What if he decided to inject him anyway? What should he do then? _Easy, Frank. Breathe_.

"Looks okay," the man's voice mumbled. The light went off abruptly. There was a sound of the door closing, then locking. Frank exhaled in relief.

"Is Alissa in place yet?"

"No." Gabby sounded cross. "Tomorrow. I can't do it too soon, or she'll be sure to spill the beans." The voices were moving away from the door now. Frank strained to catch what they were saying. He barely made out the man's voice finishing with "two more days", then all was reduced to mumbling.

Frank lay back and sighed. Well, he certainly couldn't work on the bed now. Maybe he could find something to use to pick the handcuff lock. 

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he was aware of was the sound of angry voices. Watery early morning sunlight filtered through a tear in the shade. A door slammed nearby and the voices escalated, though he couldn't distinguish any words. A short time later there was the sound of a car peeling away from beneath the window. He wished that he could get close enough to the window to look.

Before he could contemplate a way, the doorknob rattled and his jailer entered with a breakfast tray. She stared at him. Her eyes looked red and swollen.

"You're awake early."

He nodded. "You're Gabby, aren't you?"

She blinked at him, then sat down abruptly on the chair by the bed, her tray across her lap. After a moment she said, "You really didn't remember, did you? And probably wouldn't have. Anything important."

He shook his head. "Probably not. I mean, I remember thinking it was weird, but my mind was on my vacation." 

She shook her head again, placing the tray across his knees. "I knew it. I told them, but...they wouldn't take the chance...now all this terrible, ridiculous mess for nothing." She smiled suddenly. "It's funny, how you go along, thinking that what you're doing isn't really so bad, that life somehow owes you a break. Then something happens that changes everything and you see how far you've fallen...how colossally stupid…" she sighed. "You know, no one ever does that run that early. Not in that kind of fog. I really thought we'd be safe."

Frank smiled. "I noticed."

"And then they brought you here, and I realized - all I could think was, what have we done?" Gabby reached for the napkin on his tray to blot at the sudden flow from her eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. No one was supposed to get hurt. And now I just don't know what to do anymore." Gabby was sobbing in earnest now. Frank reached over to pat her hand. His cuffed arm just made it.

"Gabby, why don't you let me go?"

Gabby shook her head vigorously. "I can't. I don't have the key to the handcuffs. They know I don't like this, so they don't trust me. And Jerry - well, he's got a record. Heaven knows what would happen to him if this fell apart. Jerry is the best thing that ever happened to me." She laughed bitterly. "Which should tell you a whole lot about my life."

"The guy last night?"

Gabby blinked at him. "You were awake?"

"Yeah. I remembered what you said about laying low. He didn't exactly seem like a cold blooded killer."

Gabby stared. "How _old_ are you?" 

"Eighteen. Why?"

"You've got the coolest head I've ever seen. Eat your breakfast."

"I'm not really hungry."

Gabby rose to her feet with a sigh. "Well, suit yourself. I'll leave it within reach, then, in case you want it later. I have to get to work."

Frank looked down quickly to hide the hope that sprang into his eyes. If she were gone maybe he'd have an opportunity to carry out his escape plan. Such as it was. He glanced at the tray, hoping for tools. Plastic silverware. Not much help there. 

He felt a kiss on the top of his head and looked up, startled. Gabby was halfway out the door but she turned, her expression suddenly soft.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," she said, like someone making a wish on birthday candles. "Nothing. I promise."

Frank listened as she locked the door behind her and kept listening, as hard as he could until he heard another door close and fasten.

Then he pushed the chair with the tray as far across the floor as he could and rolled himself carefully out of the bed until he was seated on the floor beside it, his left shoulder firmly wedged against the headboard. 

It was an awkward position, but somehow or other he was determined to get that bed apart. Somehow or other, he was going to get free. 


	10. Chapter 10

****

Chapter X

"Of course, I forgive you!" Callie brushed it aside impatiently. "What do we do now?"

Joe frowned. "I've been thinking about that. The first thing is to go through these logs and see if we can find out Jerry's last name and tie him to one apartment. Then we can stake out the place. These should give us a pretty good idea what time he usually gets to work."

Callie began laying the sheets out on the bed, her brown eyes scanning them intently. "You know, Joe, it was a good idea to come back here and make a plan. I'm very impressed."

Joe shot her a grateful glance. It had hurt a lot to leave that building without taking action, and Callie's praise took some of the sting away. She really was a good egg, for the most part.

"See anything?"

Callie nodded. "The name Jerry Stryker, over and over. But it doesn't match any of the names on the apartments."

"Huh." Joe picked up the auto log and flipped to the day before yesterday. He scanned the times marked. Sure enough, from 12PM to 5PM the vehicle "TOSCA" was signed out to Jerry Stryker. 

He looked at the apartment list. First floor, A. Wong. Doubtful. Second floor, J. Li. Well. "J" could be for Jerry, if he used an alias. Third floor, B. Ramgulam. Not likely. Fourth floor, H. Weiss. No. Fifth floor, K. Smith. Sixth floor, G. Townsend. Okay, "G" could stand for Gerald, but where was the Stryker?

"I don't know, Callie. Any ideas?"

Callie sat on the bed. "Well. You said he called her "babe" on the phone. And Frank said the same thing about the woman he was arguing with. So maybe it's his girl's place. Maybe it's a whole different name."

Joe nodded. "Well, at least that clears Alissa. There's no A. Grant here."

Callie rolled her eyes. "Unless that's a stage name. Either way, it doesn't help us narrow it down any."

Joe ran his hands through his blond waves. "I'll admit I'm kind of beat, Callie. My thinker seems to be turned off." Darn it, Frank, this is your job, where are you?

Callie glanced at the clock. "It's late," she admitted. "Wait, Joe! _I_ have an idea! And Alissa's just the key! She likes to chat - maybe a little casual conversation will get the name of Jerry's girlfriend out of her!"

Joe yawned widely and nodded. "Worth a shot. Let's check Frank's book for the hours of the Opera House and hit the sack." He checked the time and date on his watch and shook his head, his face serious. "You know, Callie, I hate to say it, but if we don't close this thing up in the next couple of days, you're going to have to fly back to New York."

Callie opened her eyes in astonishment. "Why, Joe Hardy, of all the chauvinist - I thought we were agreed - "

"No, no - " Joe held up his hand in protest. "I didn't mean it that way! I meant that Frank and I flew here with one of our tickets on a courier discount, and part of the courier gig is that you have to return with a delivery on a certain day! It's how you earn the ticket.

Dad got us the deal, and it's his reputation at stake. So as long as it's humanly possible, somebody has to fly on that plane and make the delivery. And if only one of us can stay and free Frank, well, I'm not being a chauvinist, Callie, it's just that I have more experience, and this is Frank's life we're talking about."

Callie was staring at him and he continued tiredly, "I'm sorry, Callie. I'm just trying to do the right thing."

Callie blinked. "Oh. No. I'm not mad, Joe, it's just..." she shook her head slightly. "It's just that, for a second there, you sounded exactly like Frank!"

Despite his tiredness, Joe couldn't sleep. It seemed to him that every time he closed his eyes the empty bed next to his reproached him, until he finally got up and turned on the light. Okay, if sleep was out of the question, maybe eating would help. There was a vending machine in the alcove down the hall. Pulling on his robe and slippers and filling his pocket with change, he eased quietly into the hall and locked the door behind him.

The hallways had subdued evening lighting, but the vending machine area was well-lit. Joe lingered over the display, finally selecting three candy bars and a can of soda for good measure, and started back down the hall. He was about halfway back to his room when he stopped dead, his heart thudding painfully. A figure, all in black, was kneeling outside his bedroom door. From the look of things, he was trying to pick the lock. And apparently he was good at it, because in another second he pushed on the door and slid stealthily inside. 

Joe drew his breath in through his teeth. _What now? _With sudden resolve, he decided that he'd had enough caution for one day. Time to catch somebody in the act. In a few quick steps, he was beside the door. Then he counted to three, pushed the door inward and hit the light switch simultaneously, ducking low in case his intruder had a gun. 

The intruder, startled by the interruption and dazzled by the sudden light, floundered by one of the beds. It was all the opportunity Joe needed. He leapt across the room, his shoulder sinking deep into the culprit's abdomen to release a satisfying whoosh of air. As they tumbled to the carpet with Joe on top, the younger Hardy figured out two things: firstly, that he was much better as a man of action, and secondly, that his victim, still breathing raggedly as he managed flip over Joe's head and reverse their positions, was no amateur. He closed a vicious grip on Joe's throat. Joe aimed a kick, but the grip didn't even loosen. He tried twisting away, but the man in black seemed to have superhuman powers of strength. In one last desperate effort to breathe, he swung the hand still clutching the soda can at the assailant's head. It connected just above the ear. Joe heard the man grunt, then felt him go limp on top of him.

Joe lay still, both trying to catch his breath and decide whether or not this guy was playing possum. After a minute, coughing a little and rubbing at his throat, he pushed the limp body off of him and studied it cautiously. It remained still. Nonetheless, he kept as much distance as possible and a weather eye for trouble as he tied the man's arms behind him with the belt from his bathrobe, using another belt for his ankles and a pair of socks for a gag. 

Then he sat back on his heels and studied him. So, what was this all about? Had someone followed him from the apartment? Was this the same figure he thought he'd glimpsed as he and Callie were leaving the Opera House? Carefully, he reached into the man's pockets, feeling for identification. He found a small caliber gun with the safety on which he slipped into his bathrobe pocket and a small plastic I.D. card, nothing else. But he didn't need anything else. He recognized the plastic card at once. He had once been given one himself, by the owner.

Arthur Gray. Of The Network.

Joe looked from his unconscious captive to the card, chewing his lip. This case was taking a few too many twists for comfort. The good news was that the kidnappers weren't on to them. The bad news was that it looked as though the Gray Man had decided to either ship them out or find out what they knew, or both - and that he was past asking nicely. This guy probably wouldn't have risked breaking into his room if he was just sent to keep an eye on them. Joe made a sudden decision. He hooked the intruder under the arms and dragged him to the vending machine room. Some skulking around revealed a decent-sized gap between the soda machine and the wall, and he tucked the man in black into it, out of sight. When he came to, he'd probably get away, but that couldn't be helped. Joe couldn't risk calling the police and he sure couldn't haul this guy along with him, so he'd just have to take his chances on his staying out cold for a while. 

He hot-footed it down the hall and knocked softly but insistently on Callie's door. The door swung open quickly on a disheveled Callie. "Joe! I heard some thumping next door! Is everything all right?" 

Joe grimaced. "Not exactly. But it's under control for the moment. Callie, we need to dress and pack and check out right away. No time for explanations - I'll tell you everything later. Start now. I'm going to settle with the desk." Callie opened her mouth, then closed it firmly and turned back inside of her room. Joe could hear the sound of drawers opening and closing. With a sigh of relief he went back to his own room and picked up the phone. 

"Hi. This is rooms 312 and 314. We have - um - a family emergency and need to check out right away. What do we owe you?"

There was a pause as the desk clerk checked the computer. At last she said, "Actually, sir, you paid by credit card and are paid up through the end of the week. I can credit a refund to your card."

"Huh." Joe was running this rapidly through his brain. "Any chance we could get that refund in cash?"

"Only two hundred dollars of it, sir. Hotel policy."

"Good enough." Too bad Frank had been kidnapped with the credit card. Oh, well. "Could you have a bell hop bring it up to our room? I'll sign for it. We're in kind of a hurry."

"Certainly, sir. And I hope your emergency isn't serious. Would you like me to call a cab for you?"

"Er - no. Thanks. Someone is picking us up." He hung up the phone and pulled on his jeans over his pajamas, then got out his and Frank's suitcases. The bellhop at the door interrupted him, and he signed the necessary papers and accepted the envelope of money. After stuffing the envelope into his jacket, he began opening Frank's drawers and thrusting his things into his bag pell-mell, shaking his head at the mess he was creating. His orderly brother would never approve, but it couldn't be helped. 

Just then Callie walked in. "I'm all packed. Now what - not like that, Joe. Here, let me. You get your own stuff together." With a few deft manipulations she had the clothes lying smoothly and was emptying the next drawer inside the suitcase. Joe turned to cramming his own clothes into his suitcase and in just a couple of minutes they were done. "Great," Joe breathed. "Now we just need to leave without using the front door. Let's try the parking garage. There must be people coming and going through there all times of day and night." 

Callie looked a question, but to Joe's relief, didn't ask. She just picked up Frank's bag and moved to the hall, where her own bags were waiting. "The stairs, I presume?"

"Yeah. All the way down - past the lobby and into the parking levels." They made their way stealthily down the stairs, slowed by their bags. Joe, grunting under the weight of Callie's garment bag, wondered in passing what girls found to carry in all that luggage. They reached the parking garage and made their way out of the side entrance into the street. So far, so good. Joe only saw one flicker of suspicious movement in the shadows, and that turned out to be a wino. Still, it didn't mean anything. Those Network guys were good. Callie raised her eyebrows at Joe, and he gestured with his head for her to follow him. Down the steep hill they trekked, hauling their luggage, then over a block and up another hill. Joe decided to himself that dragging suitcases up and down the hills of San Francisco would never rank high on his choices of exercise. When he was fairly sure that no one was following and completely sure that his arms would break off if they didn't rest, Joe called a halt by a pay phone in front of a drug store. He fumbled in his jacket for a quarter. 

Callie watched him. "Anything you'd like me to do?" 

Joe nodded and reached into his back pocket for Frank's guide book. "Find us another hotel."

Callie accepted the book without comment. "We're hiding out?" 

Joe nodded, dialing the taxi service number displayed on the pay phone. Joe gave the taxi service the address of the drug store and sat down on one of the bags to wait. Callie, absorbed in the guide book, seemed disinclined for conversation, and he was glad, because he wanted to think. What he found himself thinking about was what he'd like to do to Jerry Stryker, and, more importantly, to the Gray Man. After dwelling on these thoughts with relish for a while, he felt Callie pull the hood of his jacket up over his head so that it shadowed his eyes. Looking up at her, he noticed that she had taken the scarf from the neck of her jacket and tied it around her head. 

"I'm not cold," he protested.

"That doesn't matter. You said we were hiding out. This will make us a little less recognizable." 

"Oh. Good idea." He lumbered stiffly to his feet as a taxi rounded the corner and pulled up to the curb. What a long day. Some vacation.

In the taxicab, he let Callie give directions, barely listening. The taxi wound its way through the confusion of the San Francisco streets, then finally stopped in front of a painted stucco building. He stared through the window, fumbling for his money. The sign over the bright red door was in Chinese, but underneath, in smaller letters, was painted **Hotel Hong**. He raised his eyebrows at Callie, who winked at him. The driver left them on the sidewalk with their bags. It was the first time it occurred to Joe to look at the time. He whistled when he saw how late it was. Still, a tug on an old fashioned bell pull brought footsteps scurrying. A small oriental woman opened the door to them, bowing and murmuring soft greetings in Chinese. They followed her into the spotless lobby, still dragging their bags. She bustled behind the lobby desk, turning on an overhead light and gesturing to a book in front of her.

A sudden thought occurred to Joe. "Do you speak English?"

"No Ingliss," beamed the woman, gesturing to the book again. Joe looked down, and saw that it was a floor plan of all the rooms. There was a star marked on what he assumed were the occupied rooms. He looked at Callie and shrugged, then selected two adjoining rooms with baths on the second floor - one double and one single. The price was written on each room, and Joe reached in his jacket to peel off some bills from the refund money. The woman nodded and bowed again, chuckling something else in Chinese. Then she clapped her hands and a sleepy young bellhop who looked enough like her to be her son staggered out of a door behind the desk to take their bags. They followed him up the stairs. He opened both rooms for them, offering their keys with a bow. 

Joe looked at Callie. "Say, I know I owe you an explanation -"

Callie waved it away, yawning. "Tomorrow. Well, this place certainly is clean. See you in the A.M., Joe."

"Yeah." Joe shook his head, smiling. "You sure are a good sport, Callie."

"Of course. How else could I have lasted this long with your brother? Good night, Joe." 

Joe was still smiling as her door closed and he wandered into his own room for a well-deserved rest. 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

"It's not that I don't think changing hotels was a good idea, Joe," said Callie, poking curiously at the combination of noodles and tofu on her plate, "But what if Frank escapes? He won't know where to find us."

"That means we need to hurry up and find him first." Joe frowned at his breakfast. "What is this stuff, anyway?"

"It's the breakfast special. Shouldn't be a surprise to a world traveler like yourself. Eat up." 

Joe looked around the small coffee shop in the basement of their Chinese hotel and shook his head dubiously. Everyone seemed to be eating happily, and they weren't all Chinese, either. "And furthermore," he continued, tasting the dish cautiously. It was surprisingly good, and he perked up. "I just don't see how we're going to work a question like that into a conversation with Alissa."

"Leave that to me," answered Callie, sipping her orange juice. "I'll think of something."

Joe swallowed some more. "I don't feel good about using Alissa. Now that we know she's innocent."

Callie glared at him. "We don't know anything of the kind. Besides, I'm not planning to beat it out of her. Not at first, anyway."

"Very funny." Joe swallowed the last of his meal in one bite and stood up. "Let's go. If we stake out the place a little early, maybe we'll see Jerry arriving with someone."

They didn't see Jerry, but the doors were open, and they entered the lobby hopefully. "You wait here and keep an eye out for Alissa," Joe instructed, indicating his backpack. "I'm going to see if I can sneak this binder back into the office before this place gets really trafficked." 

Joe slipped up the now-familiar staircase. The office door was actually standing open, with some folders neatly arranged on the desk. He dove inside, dropped the binder next to its fellows, and swung quickly out again. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the stone corridor. Determined to avoid awkward explanations, he flattened himself behind a nearby pillar. The footsteps entered the office and stayed. Joe gave a snort of exasperation. Well, he could probably walk by without attracting any particular attention. Or he could go around and downstairs on the other side. He decided to try that first.

He made his way around to the rear corridor. He was just passing the Prop Room door when he paused. He really shouldn't. But he just couldn't resist. He tried the knob, and the door gave way. Inside, all was dark and quiet. He glanced around, lingering at the doorway for a hasty retreat. "Hey!" he whispered. "Just wanted to see if your man got home all right!" 

There was a pause, then a voice from the darkness grumbled, "I suppose you think that's funny. I could have you arrested, you know."

"Sure," agreed Joe cheerfully, "But you won't, because that would give the whole show away." 

There was a silence, then, "There's just no easy way to get rid of you, is there?"

Joe leaned against the doorjamb. "Sure there is. Real easy. Find Frank. Then we'll all be gone in two shakes. Well, see you."

"You'd better hope not, young man." 

Joe decided not to push his luck and hurried down the remainder of the corridor and up the side stairs. He reached Callie just as Alissa entered.

"Why, hello!" She greeted them with such pleased surprise that Joe's conscience smote him. "What are you guys doing here? And so early!"

"We wanted to be the first to see the jewels!" Callie bubbled with such eager ingenuousness that Joe stared in admiration.

Alissa laughed. "Sorry, guys. Not till tomorrow, remember?"

Joe decided he'd better do his bit and grinned meaningfully at Alissa. "Depends on what kind of jewels you're looking for."

Alissa colored prettily. "You never let up, do you?"

"Not till I get what I'm after."

Alissa grinned. "I'll bet. Well, Callie, I'm sorry to disappoint _you_ anyway." 

"Oh, it's all right. I guess I'll just have to come back. Aren't you nervous though? At the thought of carrying the jewels even a short distance?"

Alissa hesitated at the foot of the stairs, and Callie noted the suppressed excitement in her face. Finally, she turned to them. "Listen, guys, can you keep a secret?"

Callie and Joe glanced at each other, then back at Alissa. "Of course."

"Well...I can't tell anybody here, and if I don't tell somebody, I'm just going to bust!" She glanced around nervously, then lowered her voice. "I won't be carrying the jewels. Tomorrow night I'm singing in the Gala!" 

"Oh, Alissa!" Callie gave her a hug. "How wonderful for you! They finally decided to give you a chance?"

"W-well...no..." Alissa leaned against the stair rail. "Not exactly. That's why it's a secret. I have a friend who's a singer - she's been helping me a lot. Maybe you've heard of her. She used to be quite an up and coming mezzo until - well - until she had some tragedy. Gabrielle Townsend's her name."

"Gabrielle Townsend." Callie wrinkled her forehead. "Oh, I think I remember. Didn't she have a drinking problem?"

Alissa nodded. "She's had a very sad life. She was married to her manager, and I guess he used to knock her around pretty bad. They say sometimes even greasepaint wouldn't cover the marks. So she started drinking. Once when she was drunk and he was violent her little boy tried to stand up for her. Her husband beat him so badly he died. After that her drinking got worse. 

One night she went onstage to sing Musetta in _La Boheme_ and collapsed in a drunken stupor. That pretty much finished her starring career. 

Now she does chorus parts and small featured roles. And in this one - well, she met me for breakfast and suggested that we switch! She's had her chance, after all, and it will give me an opportunity to strut my stuff. She's coached me a lot, and she thinks I'm ready. So! I'm singing Lise!"

Callie and Joe were staring open mouthed at each other, because the same thought had occurred to both of them. Gabrielle Townsend. _G. Townsend!_

"Th-that's great Alissa, but aren't you afraid to let anyone else walk the jewels?"

"Oh, no." Alissa was blithe. "Why, Gabby's been with the Company much longer than I have, and there _is_ an armed guard!"

"Don't you think the Stage Manager might object?"

Alissa laughed. "Jerry? I doubt it! In fact, that's probably the main reason for the switch, so they can hang out backstage together. They've been engaged just forever."

"No kidding." Callie mustered a weak smile. "Well, I'm so happy for you Alissa, really I am. I'm sure you'll be wonderful. But say, I guess you've got a lot to do. We should get out of your way."

Alissa nodded reluctantly. "I guess you're right. There's a big rehearsal in about half an hour - all hands on deck."

"But don't worry," Joe called as Callie practically dragged him toward the door. "I'll be back."

"Terrific! Maybe the next time I see you I'll be a real singer!" They waved as they exited the building and hurried down the steps.

"Well," gasped Callie. "I never expected it to be that easy."

"No," Joe agreed. "But what a break - we know both G. Townsend and Jerry are either here or on their way. I was studying the trolley lines last night. Let's grab one now. We may be just in time to spring Frank."

*

Frank ground his teeth in frustration and checked his watch for the thousandth time. He hoped that Gabby had no plans to come home for lunch. A dozen times he had almost had the mattress support loose, nearly dislocating his knee in the process, and a dozen times it slid back into the headboard at the last second.

"Come on, Frank," he chided himself, "it's not like you have anything else to do." He grasped the mattress support in both hands, and, bracing his foot against one of the wooden slats lying between the mattress supports once more, pushed with all his might. The support and headboard clicked together again, but the wooden slat sprang free with a clatter.

Good, thought Frank. At least I can slide my hand up and down further now for better leverage. I just hope none of the neighbors hear and call the police.

_Though, why not?_ he thought upon reflection. _That would be one way out of here._ As he repositioned himself he had to admit to a reluctance to get Gabby in trouble. _Just great, Frank. Sympathizing with your captors. What do they call that - the Stockholm Syndrome?_

He braced himself for another try. _Concentrate. Deep breaths_. He thought of his sensei and pictured the bed coming apart in his mind. Then, giving a karate yell to cheer himself on, he pushed with all his might. The bed tried to slide back together, but he gave the support a shove with his upper arm and it tilted crazily, sending the box spring sliding into his shoulder. He grunted with pain, but he was smiling. Gently, he slid the cuff to the end of the metal support, lifted the box spring slightly with his left hand, and worked it over the notched end. He was free.

Slowly, he stood up for the first time in a day and a half, staggered and grabbed for the wall. A little wobbly, but not too bad. He made his way to the window and cautiously looked out. Too high to jump, and nothing to use to climb down. Also over a very public parking lot.

He turned back to the door. Locked, of course, but maybe...his eyes fell on the plastic knife. A long shot. But maybe. As he picked up the knife he remembered his jacket and reached for it. Didn't want to forget that.

Something in the pocket bumped against him and his eyes widened. If it was still there...he fumbled with the small leather case, then smiled broadly. His credit card. _Well, Dad, you said it was for emergencies. If only you knew._ He slid it between the door and jamb and wiggled it until he heard a click.

He turned the knob and opened the door a crack. The apartment had an empty feel, but he couldn't be too careful. After a moment's thought he went back and picked up the wooden slat. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was something, and a whole lot better than the plastic knife.

Now he looked carefully both ways and eased out of the door. Part of him longed to search the apartment, but it was getting toward noon and the risk seemed too great. No. Better get out while he could, get back to Joe and Callie, then decide what to do next.

He walked past one door, then the next, his wooden slat at the ready, making his way to the front of the apartment. At the front door he carefully turned the deadbolt and slid off the chain, knowing that if they'd left a guard that's where he was most likely to be. Nothing. Cautiously, he turned the knob and pulled the door inward. No one in sight. He closed the door behind him with a silent apology to Gabby, and glanced about the hall. An elevator right across the way. A flight of fire stairs to the right. 

As he hesitated, the floor numbers above the elevator began to flash, sending his heart into his throat. He dove for the stairs, easing the door closed behind him and leaning against it for a second, catching his breath and rubbing absently at the bump throbbing quietly on his forehead. The door was labeled with a big number 6. Five flights to go, then. Maybe there was even a basement he could slip out of and avoid the front door all together. 

He slid silently down the first flight, his back pressed to the wall as much for support as for secrecy. Four more. After peering around the corner, he did the same with the next flight. Three. So far, so good. 

He had started down the next flight, thinking two more flights- three, if you're lucky and there's a basement - when he heard it. Footsteps, slow and stealthy. Coming up the stairs toward him. And there was absolutely nowhere to hide.

Frank backed hastily up the stairs and dove around the corner. Maybe I'm lucky, he thought, his heart hammering. Maybe somebody's just getting their exercise. Maybe they'll get off a flight below me. But the slow, stealthy progress kept on toward him. 

He grasped his slat weapon in both hands, his mouth set in a hard line, acutely aware that he was not in his best fighting trim. You have surprise, Frank, he told himself sternly. And you have a weapon. Yeah, a little voice inside mocked him. But maybe they have guns.

The steps were almost here. Quiet as they were, he could tell. He took a big breath and, bracing himself, raised the slat over his head and leapt out to face his enemy.

****


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

"Frank! Don't! It's us!" Frank nearly tumbled down the steps in his effort to stop his momentum, but he grabbed the railing in time and leaned against it, the slat dangling from his hand.

"Joe?" he ventured cautiously, wondering if hallucinations were an after effect of the drug. "Callie?"

Joe was grinning hugely. "Yeah. And we're unarmed, so don't hit us, okay?"

Frank's face split into an answering grin; he dropped down onto the landing with a thump and started to laugh.

"Hey - hey, come on, bro - " Joe hurried up the remaining steps. "I promise you can fall apart later, but right now we have to get out of here."

"I'm sorry," Frank gasped. "I thought - "

"Okay. I know. Callie, take his other side. Up we go."

Frank rose unsteadily. "Really, I'm okay." He turned to Callie, who still had her arm around his waist. "Honest, I can walk by myself."

"I don't doubt it," Callie retorted. "But I happen to have a need to hang onto _you for the moment." Frank met her look and his eyes softened._

Joe interrupted hastily. "Also lots of time for touching reunions once we're out of here. But let's _get out of here! C'mon!" _

"Wait!" Frank stiffened and motioned for them to be silent. Faintly, they heard the snick of a fire door latch release somewhere above them. Frank winced at the sound.

"Great," muttered Joe.

"Could be anyone," whispered Callie hopefully.

"What's odds?" Joe felt for the small gauge shotgun he had taken off of the Gray Man's cohort and stuffed into his waistband before he had left. He wasn't a big fan of shooting, but if worse came to worst it wouldn't hurt to point it. "Okay. Down the stairs everybody, as quickly and quietly as you can. Callie, you lead, Frank you follow." Joe gave Frank a gentle shove, drawing his firearm and bringing up the rear. In the echo of the stairwell he thought he made out the scuff of a footstep. _What a lousy place to be trapped. _

Callie and Frank had both made it around the next bend by now. He glanced upward before following. One more flight, if he remembered correctly, then they could make a run for it. Once they were out in a public street in broad daylight their odds would be a whole lot more to his liking. 

He rounded the bend to the lobby level and felt Frank tug on his sleeve. He was pointing to a door at the foot of the flight of stairs labeled "Basement" in big red letters. There was a second door that must lead to the lobby. Either way, they were going to have to choose fast. Joe cracked the door leading to the lobby and peered out. He swallowed hard at the sight of the familiar plaid shirt lingering by the elevator. _Jerry Stryker. Then who was on the stairs...?_ He remembered his visitor from the night before and swallowed again. No one else would have a reason to creep down those stairs. But they had no idea what they would find in the basement, either - it could leave them completely cornered. 

Watching the expressions chase themselves across Frank's face he figured he was going through the same thought processes. A sudden shadow looming from above made up their minds. Frank pulled open the basement door and shoved Callie behind it. It stayed propped open on an automatic catch. Almost at the same moment, Joe pushed Frank into the space under the stairs and crowded himself in next to him. It was a poor excuse for cover, but he held the revolver at the ready. Frank's eyes widened at the sight of the gun, but before he could say anything, a pair of silver-toed black boots rounded the stairwell right in front of them. 

From the recess under the stairs it was impossible to make out more than the boots and the black clad legs as they turned first toward the lobby door, then the open basement. Joe held his breath at the creak of the lobby door opening, then clicking shut again. The boots walked back to stand consideringly in front of the open basement door. Perspiration was gathering at Joe's hairline. He was weighing the wisdom of staying put as opposed to jumping out and pushing the figure down the basement stairs and making a run for it. If only he could be sure Jerry was out of the lobby - if only he could be sure Frank was up to running. 

The boots turned away from the basement door and moved in the direction of the lobby. There was 

the sound of the door opening, and then snapping closed. Joe waited, counting to ten, then counting to ten again, then stuck his head cautiously from under the stairwell. Something cold and hard pressed deep into his temple and he groaned.

_Caught. By the oldest trick in the book._


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter XIII

Joe slowly put his hands up. The figure in black reached down to tweak the gun from his fist. And let out a howl of pain as he flew forward onto his face, his own gun and silencer sailing through the air to land and clatter across the floor. It barely had time to register in Joe's brain that Callie had given the basement door a mighty kick, hitting the man in the back and knocking him off balance, because he was already in motion, leaping through the basement door after Callie, pulling Frank along behind him. Frank yanked the door closed as he slid through and shoved the bed slat he was still carrying through the handle to secure it.

"That'll hold it for a second," he panted. "But he might have the fire power to shoot through it. Or he might just go to those windows and wait to pick us off, nice and quiet." The door shivered as someone pulled on the handle from the other side, and despite herself, Callie shuddered.

"Hang in there, Callie," Joe encouraged, glancing around desperately. "That was a pretty smooth move back there. Don't lose it now."

Frank was staring thoughtfully at a series of slat-doored and chicken wire storage closets ranged along one wall, labeled with apartment numbers. "You know, I think I  - "

"Have a plan!" Joe finished for him triumphantly, catching him in a bear hug. "Boy, I've missed your plans!"

"Well, don't break my ribs about it." Frank looked pleased and embarrassed. "And this one's not exactly state-of-the-art. Joe, collect some of those wood cartons and stack them under one of the windows. Then open the window as far as you can. But quietly, in case he's got a friend out there somewhere."

Frank turned his attention to the different padlocks on the storage bin doors. 

The door shook again - this time the slat creaked ominously. Callie bit her lip and turned away from it determinedly. "What can I do?"

Frank didn't even look up from the lock he was fingering. "These are pretty cheap. In some of them you can feel the tumblers, if you pay attention. Help me find one that seems likely. You'll be able to tell by the drag as you approach the number - of course, it would be a lot faster with a lockpick..."

"Like this?" Joe appeared at his side, holding out Frank's lockpick case. "The boxes and window are set. I even snagged a scrap of cloth from my shirt in the window frame for good measure." 

Frank grinned. "Very artistic," then winced as the door gave an especially threatening shake. He slipped the lockpick into the keyslot on the padlock in front of him. "Here - " the lock dropped open, and he pulled it off and opened the door. Inside was a dim jumble of furniture and shelving. "You and Callie. In. Now."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to hide behind the water heater. Somebody has to put the lock back or it's a dead giveaway."

Joe shook his head. "Uh-uh. You and Callie in. I'll take the water heater - I've got the gun to keep me company."

"That's even worse!" Frank protested fiercely. "Where'd you get that thing, anyway?"

The slat gave a warning crack and the door rattled loudly.

"Frank, this is no time to play big brother. Besides, if it comes down to it, I could take you easy about now. Callie -" he handed her into the compartment and pushed Frank unceremoniously after her, swinging the door closed and snapping the padlock in one motion. He just barely had time to duck behind the water heater, grimacing as the cobwebs hit his face, before the slat splintered and a shaft of light shot down the stairs.    

Joe held his breath. The tread would have been noiseless, except for the age of the creak-prone wooden stairs, and from his dim hiding place he caught the dull flash of the silver-toed boots. The rest of the black-clad figure remained shadowy in the milky light filtering through the narrow, dirty panes of the basement windows. 

Joe could just make out his movement toward the boxes piled under the one window. The figure appeared to study it for a moment, then turned toward the storage bins. Joe grit his teeth as he made his way toward them.

The dark figure pulled gently on each door in turn as Joe silently willed Callie and Frank to stay cool. One door was unlatched, and he pulled it open and peered inside. Joe couldn't be sure how much was visible through the chicken wire interior, but he prayed it was too dark to make out anything - or Frank and Callie were sitting ducks. After an endless moment, their pursuer returned to the window and studied it carefully. 

He must have found Joe's scrap of cloth, because something kept him busy for a while. Then he climbed onto one of the boxes and pulled himself, cat-like, through the window, and was gone. This time Joe counted to twenty-five before daring to leave his hiding place. Even then he kept low and hugged the wall. When he reached the first window, he eased up the wall slowly and peaked out cautiously, but no man with a gun appeared flattened near the windows, waiting to ambush them. Only then did he approach the storage bins.

"Okay, guys," he whispered, "You can come out now."

"That's great, Joe," Frank's voice was dry. "And we'd love to - really. Except that you locked us in here _with the lockpicks."_

"Bummer." Joe glanced around the basement. His eyes lit on a ladder and a metal box stowed carelessly in one corner. "Wait a minute…" He rummaged through the box. Claw hammer – maybe. Screw driver – hammer was better. Wrench – no good. Aha! He triumphantly shook a small crowbar free from the other tools. "Hang on and I'll have you out in a jiff. Shouldn't be hard to get that door open."

It only took a couple of tries with the crowbar before the rotten wood gave way with a groan. Frank handed Callie down from her seat on some boxes of books and followed her out, brushing at cobwebs. He turned to survey the damage. "Well, we've done a nice job on this building today, between us. Better get out before we bring the walls down around us. The window?"

Joe shrugged. "He's not posted by it, but he could be waiting nearby to snipe at us."

"I guess our other options are the lobby - I can only think of half a dozen or so people I'd prefer to avoid we might run into there - or return upstairs to Gabby's apartment and look for the fire escape - and I'm _really not crazy about going back in there. Personally, I'd rather take my chances with the sniper. You guys?"_

"Me too," agreed Callie. "I just couldn't face those stairs again. Think you can fit, Joe?" 

"I'll make myself," was Joe's grim answer. "Come on, Callie, I'll boost you up. Look for some kind of cover and wait until we're together."  

It was easy enough to shoot Callie through the narrow opening. 

"You're next, Frank."

Frank hesitated. "How are you getting up?"

"I'm going to stand on that old wood box over there and you and Callie are going to stand by in case it's a tight fit." He laced his fingers together and bent over. "On my count of three."

Soon they were all kneeling in the alley next to the apartment house. Callie looked from one to the other and giggled. "You guys should see yourselves. You look like chimney sweeps."

Joe touched the tip of her nose with his finger and brought it away black. "You're not winning any good grooming awards yourself just now."

Frank had moved to the corner of the building to reconnoiter and now he crawled back. "There's a BART Station not too far from the corner. Could be an easy crowd to get lost in, in case anybody's watching."

Joe nodded. "Good idea," he agreed cheerfully. "All we have to do is get there without getting shot." 

Despite their disheveled appearance, they merged well with the dense sidewalk traffic, and though Joe felt as though he had a bulls eye painted on his back the entire length of the corner, they descended the stairs to the underground train unmolested. A train was just pulling up to the platform.

"Go on. Let's take it."

Callie craned her neck to see the label. "How do you know it's the right one?"

"Because it's going _away. Who cares where it goes? We can always transfer. C'mon! Hurry!"_

Joe swiped his BART pass then handed it back over his shoulder to Frank, who swiped Callie through and then followed. They blended into the crowd, carried along onto the train. 

"Well," Joe said cheerfully, twisting around in his seat in front of Frank and Callie. "How often do you get to do a really good getaway on public transportation?"

Frank sat back in his seat, suddenly exhausted. Somehow, he wouldn't feel comfortable until the apartment building was well behind them.   


	14. Chapter 14

****

Chapter XIV

"Frank. Frank, we're here." 

Frank stirred and pried open his eyes; realized that he had fallen asleep, leaning on Callie. He kneaded his eyelids and followed Joe and Callie unsteadily but obediently up the stairs to the street. He blinked at the unfamiliar façade of Hotel Hong. "This isn't our hotel," he protested.

"Sure it is, bro." Joe took his arm and steered him toward the building. "It's our new hotel. An important precaution, I thought."

"Oh," Frank nodded. _Boy, his brain seemed to be moving slow_. "Good idea. They knew where we were?"

"I'd say. Since Callie and I received a note there wrapped around you driver's license, saying you'd be returned in three days if we didn't go to the police."

"No kidding." Frank looked at the tidy stone building sitting in Chinatown. "I feel like Rip Van Winkle. What else don't I know?"

Joe hustled him into the lobby where a desk clerk greeted them pleasantly in Chinese. "We can exchange war stories upstairs, with room service. I'm starved." 

"Me too," admitted Frank, as he watched Joe press the button to call the elevator. He leaned into the wall as they waited. He felt a gentle touch on his arm and he jumped back to alertness. "I'm not asleep!" _Was he?_

"Of course you're not, bro - just resting your eyes, right?"

"Ha ha." Frank kneaded the bump on his forehead as Joe nudged him into the waiting elevator.

"Well, I'm going to clean up," Callie announced, pulling out her key as the elevator ground to a stop. "That cellar was too dirty for anything." She clung to Frank for a moment. "Let me shower and I'll show you just how glad I am to see you."

Joe rolled his eyes and unlocked the door of the room next to Callie's, palming it open. "After you. It's not bad."

Frank tore his eyes away from Callie's now-closed door and sighed wearily. "Anything with a shower."

"Yeah. Callie's right about that cellar. I think I'll go after you."

Frank pulled off his jacket and threw it on one of the beds. The handcuff jangled free of the sleeve, where he'd inconspicuously stowed it to travel on the subway. "Oh. Hey, Joe, there's a lockpick case - "

"Yeah, I know. In fact, it's the one we've been using. Want me to do the honors?"

"Please." Frank looked at him and shook his head. "Well, my side's not real exciting, but I can't wait to hear about your adventures." 

Joe grinned as he selected a lockpick. "Not bad, if I do say so. Hold it steady." 

The cuff released with a jangle and Frank rubbed his wrist where it had bruised dismantling the bed. "Thanks." He tugged the complimentary robe from the closet and headed for the bathroom.

The shower felt better than anything Frank could remember and helped relax his stiff and achy muscles. He leaned back against the tile wall and closed his eyes, letting the water pound over him. _Don't fall asleep again, _he reminded himself_, or you'll never hear the end of it from Joe! _When he finally emerged in a cloud of steam towel drying his hair, Joe sauntered over to him, his own robe slung over his shoulder.

"Hang on." He grasped Frank by the shoulder and studied his face closely, looking so much like Gabby for a moment that Frank couldn't help smiling. 

"Well, Mom?" he inquired politely at last. "What's the verdict?"

"Not bad," Joe nodded, releasing him. "Kind of worn out, but, hey, that could just be old age!"

Frank tried to hit him with his towel, but Joe was too fast for him and dove into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. His laughter filtered out from under the door.

Frank stretched out on one of the beds, grinning. Joe's showers were never short, so he might just as well get comfortable. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror at the end of the bed and gave a low whistle. His lean features were gaunt and haggard, and the bump on his forehead had developed a technicolor bruise. 

"Wow. I look like a refugee or something." He tucked his hands under his head and decided to go over what he knew of the case, piece by piece, from the beginning. Joe's shower thrummed hypnotically in the background, otherwise the room was deeply quiet. Frank sighed, closing his eyes to concentrate on the details. For the first time in a long time, he felt relaxed and warm and comfortable.

The sound of the shower filled his ears, and the details of the last few days kept sliding stubbornly together behind his eyes, until they slowly dissolved into sleep.

Frank awoke with a start sometime later. For a moment he couldn't figure out where he was and he wondered, with a surge of panic, if his escape had just been a dream. Then he spotted Joe, stretched out and asleep in the easy chair with a blanket over him, and he relaxed.

Someone had thrown a blanket over him as well he noticed. The light and shadows in the room had shifted and his heart dropped. _More time lost! How could he possibly have gone to sleep again?_ He covered his eyes with his hands and groaned aloud. 

"Frank? Are you all right?"

He turned to see Callie sitting crosslegged on the other bed with a book in her lap.

He pulled himself into sitting position. "I'm fine. Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I figured you could use the sleep."

"I don't see how. I could count the hours I've been conscious over the last couple of days on one hand."

Callie slid off of the other bed and sat down next to Frank. "I don't think a drug induced stupor qualifies as rest." 

Frank recalled how terrible he'd felt the first couple of times he'd come to and shuddered. "I guess not. Well, I'd better get dressed and call room service. Then I'll wake Joe."

Callie slipped her arms around him and cuddled close. "Leave him a little longer. He hasn't slept much the last two nights. Me either." 

Frank swallowed. "Callie, I'm sorry - "

"Ssh," Callie stopped him with a finger on his lips. "Don't. Don't apologize."

"I just know this isn't the vacation you had in mind."

"I doubt it's exactly what you had in mind, either." She grinned and settled her head on his chest. "I'll say this for you, Frank Hardy. You're never dull."

Frank reached up to stroke her hair. "I'm just sorry to put you through this."

She looked up at him meaningfully. "I guess I must think you're worth it." 

That effectively put a period to any conversation, until the sound of someone clearing their throat made them fly apart. Frank and Callie looked away from each other, both fiery red. 

"Um. Joe. You're awake."

"Frank, it's that kind of brilliant deductive reasoning that makes you such a good detective. I guess it's too much to expect that you called room service."

"Oh. We were just talking about that."

"Yeah, I can see that's what you were doing."

"I'll call." Callie hopped off the bed and grabbed the phone. "You guys know what you want?"

"I'll have steak and baked potato, if they have it," said Joe. "I'm starved."

"I'll have the same." Frank picked up his suitcase and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to get dressed."


	15. Chapter 15

**** ****

Chapter XV

Joe scowled at his plate. "Callie, this bears absolutely no resemblance to steak and potatoes."

"Give me a break, Joe - we're in Chinatown. Think of it as Chinese steak and potatoes."

"Is that what this is?"

"Beats me. I got a couple of things, just for fun. And I'll bet it doesn't slow your appetite for more than two seconds."

Joe tasted cautiously. "Okay, these little dumpling things are pretty okay. Hand me one of those pancakes, will you, Frank?" 

"Personally, I don't care what it is. I'm starved." Frank tossed Joe a pancake and started to fill one for himself. 

"Better grab your share, Callie - I don't think this is going to last long." Callie obediently picked up a plate, and soon they were exchanging stories while they ate. 

Frank was silent a moment after Joe and Callie had finished explaining everything they had discovered and everything they had done, leaving out only Joe's offering Callie as collateral. Somehow, Joe couldn't imagine Frank taking that well, no matter the circumstances, and he was grateful that Callie didn't feel a need to elaborate. He knew from Frank's expression that he was thinking hard, and after a minute he said impatiently, "So?"

"I'm wondering if we shouldn't go to the police. But - we have no proof of anything, and it's such a wild story. I just don't know."

Callie made a face. "We also kind of failed to come clean with them about your disappearance. But I suppose that if we sent them over to the apartment building, they could find something."

"Enough to arrest Gabby and Jerry, maybe." Frank got up and began to pace. "But not this Cobra, the mystery ringleader. He's the real brains. Gabby and Jerry are just pawns. And for all we know, he could pull this off without them." He paused his pacing, his eyes distant. "I think I -"

"Another plan!" Joe crowed, finishing for him. "This is more like it! Not that I didn't come up with some pretty dandy plans of my own."

"You really did, Joe," Callie agreed warmly. "I was pretty impressed." 

Frank looked at her in surprise. Callie and Joe seemed to be getting along at last. It didn't make him feel quite the way he'd expected. He pushed the feeling back determinedly and continued. "Slow down, Joe. Could be the best thing we could do is grab the next plane back to Bayport."

Joe stared. "You don't mean that. We got a score to settle with these guys! At the very least I want to give somebody a couple of matching bumps on the head!" 

Frank rubbed automatically at the back of his skull and winced. "I know, but…" he glanced hesitantly at Callie, then away. 

Callie bridled. "I hope that look doesn't mean that you're thinking of leaving because of me?" Frank guiltily avoided her eyes. "Well, of all the nerve! You're as bad as your brother! Worse! Who just rescued who, Frank Hardy?"

Frank grinned faintly. "Hey, I rescued myself. Not that I didn't appreciate the lift - I don't think the BART system takes credit cards. So the verdict is that we see this thing through?" Joe snorted, forking the last dumpling from Frank's plate. Frank opened his mouth to protest, then shrugged resignedly instead. "I'll take that as yes. Okay, then. I figure the guy we really need is this Cobra person, but we don't know a whole lot about him. I think he was probably the other guy at the Wharf, the one that pulled the gun on me, though, so he had some kind of accent - " he paused, thinking hard. "And now that I know about the Romanov Rose...you know, that accent could have been Russian."

"Does that help?" Callie asked doubtfully, cracking a fortune cookie.

"Not a whole lot," Frank admitted. "In fact, the only way I can think of to catch up with him is to infiltrate the Opera House and keep an eye on that necklace. It's the one place we know he's sure to go."

"Maybe he won't," Joe interrupted. "Maybe he'll count on Jerry and Gabby to bring it to him."

"Then we need to be near them, so we can follow."

"Well, maybe we should leave that to Callie, then. She's pretty smooth about getting us in and out of that place." 

Frank saw the admiring glance he cast Callie and the glowing look she gave him in return and felt that funny twinge in his diaphragm again. _Cut it out, Frank,_ he told himself sharply. _You're the one who told them to learn to get along. _He cleared his throat carefully and continued. "Anyway. This Alissa. How far do you think we can trust her?"

"All the way," answered Joe promptly.

"As long as there are no secrets involved. She's a real blabbermouth."

"She is not!" Joe protested indignantly. 

"Oh, come on, Joe. She didn't even know us and she spilled her guts every time she saw us."

"Maybe we inspire trust. One of us, anyway. I thought we agreed she's in the clear."

"I'm not in the least convinced. And you wouldn't be either, if she didn't keep batting those big brown eyes at you. I say we go cautiously." 

"Look, if it weren't for Alissa, we wouldn't have even _found_ Frank! You think she would have spilled all that if she was involved?"

"I think she can't help spilling everything on her brain at the moment. I wish just for once you'd think with your head, not your - " Callie stopped abruptly and clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes suddenly wide. "Oh, Joe!" she wailed.

Frank stared, startled at her reaction. "What?" He looked at his brother for clarification, but his face was also a study in consternation.

"Oh, Callie," he groaned. 

"What?" Frank repeated. Callie and Joe's expressions would have been comical, if they hadn't been so upset. 

"What's wrong?" Frank asked again.

"Um - " Callie glanced at Frank then back at Joe, still chagrined, but trying to hide it. "Well, it's...nothing, we - "

"Nothing," Joe echoed dully.

Frank felt his temper rising in spite of himself. "Obviously it's something. You're both pretty upset."

Callie and Joe exchanged guilty glances. "No. No, really. Nothing."

"Now, look - " Frank's voice rose heatedly before he could stop himself. "I know I've been out of the picture and all, but I don't see how we can expect to solve this thing if you two insist on keeping secrets from me! And I really find it hard to imagine what's so private between you that you can't tell me about it!" 

Callie and Joe looked embarrassed.

"Well..." Callie finally began sheepishly, "We both - well - we felt bad when you disappeared after we were fighting, and - um - kind of responsible..." she trailed off, looking at Joe for help.

"We know it's kind of hard on you. Our fighting," Joe put in miserably. "So we - uh - made this pact. That if - _when_ we found you, we wouldn't fight anymore. Not for the rest of the trip." He looked mournfully at Callie. "Not even twenty-four hours."

Callie shook her head. "I'm sorry, Frank. I guess we're pretty hopeless."

"Oh," Frank began blankly. He felt as if his insides were doing a slow thaw. "Oh." A relieved smile stretched across his face. "No big deal. I guess I'm used to it." He threw himself into the armchair and studied them both with a sudden rush of affection. "Back to Alissa, then. I heard Jerry and Gabby mention her, and I guess I agree with both of you. They also talked about a three way split, which would seem to indicate that Alissa's not involved, or else there would be a share for her. On the other hand, we have to be careful. I suggest we visit her and see if she can't get us into some backstage position at the Gala, but that we watch our backs. That means you, Joe, no matter how pretty she is. Know what time she gets off work?"

Joe made a face at him, then glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet. "Pretty soon." 

"Let's get over there, then." Frank's face grew grave. "It's a pretty serious situation. The loss of a national treasure on American soil - it could create an international incident."

Joe started and looked at his brother hard for a minute. "Um - Callie, do you still have those papers from last night?"

Callie jumped to her feet. "I'll go get them." 

She was barely out of the room before Joe closed the door behind her. "Frank," he said urgently, "There's something you don't know. Not even Callie knows." 

Frank looked surprised. "Why? I thought you guys were sharing everything."

"Not this. I ran into an old friend of ours here. One I couldn't tell Callie about. He's about as deep into this as we are." 

Frank stared, uncomprehending, then his eyes grew wide. "The Gray Man?" he whispered.

Joe nodded. "At the Opera House. He's doing some kind of surveillance from the Prop Room. That's why we really changed hotels. He sent some flunky to invite us to leave. I think it was the same guy with the gun at the apartment building today."

Frank shook his head. "I don't think so, Joe. The Gray Man's guys usually wear combat shoes and besides...I'd almost swear I know those boots. It's hard to forget a pair that's kicked you in the face."

Joe wrinkled his brow. "That Cobra guy? Then why wouldn't he have signaled to Jerry Stryker for support when he looked into the lobby?"

"Maybe he did and we just didn't recognize it. Or maybe he's decided to cut out Jerry and Gabby. You know this honor among thieves thing is overrated."

Joe shook his head. "This one's getting complicated. Too many players."

Frank frowned. "Now I _really_ don't want Callie involved."

"Sorry, bro. She _is_ involved. All we can do is make the best of it." 

Frank opened his mouth to answer, but the door swung inward and Callie bounced in, waving a sheaf of papers. 

"Here you are. What are you guys standing around for? Are we going to crack this case or what?"

Joe raised his eyebrows at Frank. 

Frank grinned back at his brother. "What a question. Don't we always?"

Joe gave a whoop. "Beware all international criminals! The Hardy Brothers are on the case!"

Callie slipped one arm through his elbow and the other through Frank's. "The Hardy Brothers - and friend," she corrected demurely. 

__

To be continued in "High Note of Danger" - Part II of "The Curse of the Romanov Rose"


End file.
